The Bear-Man's Daughter
by freshneverfrozen
Summary: The Bear-Man's daughter is many things: woman, wolf, watcher, occasional mute and trickster. For years she has owed the Grey Wizard a favor and fulfilling it leads her to the exploits of Thorin & Co. and ever closer to the heart of a cheeky young dwarf whose fate may not be hers to change; OC/Kili & some Thorin awesomesauce
1. Chapter 1

**Hello happy fanfiction family! So, after waiting impatiently for oh, I don't know, ten years for the Hobbit movie to come out (ever since Lotr was in theaters) I decided that I was so ridiculously enamored with the story and Kili's pretty face that I wanted to write a fanfic about it. So tadaa! There don't seem to be all that many non- slash/incest fics about Kili or Fili or Thorin (not that there's anything wrong with them, whatever floats your boat) so I wanted to write my own. I'm not really satisfied with the level of writing for this first chapter but I'm hoping the kinks will work out the further along I get.**

**Please note that we will not be jumping straight into smut. Development between the characters will be emphasized since I don't really see Kili jumping up and down for the attention of a human female. **

**This fic will be based off of both the book and the movie, however, its events will most likely reflect the book most since that's what I have on hand and am the most familiar with. For those of you who have not read the book, a bit of background info: Beorn is a character that appears halfway through it. It is that he is some sort of shapeshifter (a bear, hence 'bear-man's daughter'). There is no mention of him having an actual daughter but it is said by Tolkien that Beorn's animals are his children so…ponder that, if you will.**

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The old grey wizard sat upon the old grey rock, puffing away grey rings of smoke from his pipe in the sleepy haze of the cool spring morning. For the average passerby, it would have been difficult to determine which of the two figures – the rock or the wizard - was older or even which was greyer. Grizzled and wizened looking as the old wizard was, he seemed quite comfortable and at home upon his stone stool. It would have been hard for anyone's eye to tell where the grey of the man's robes ended and the color of the stone began. Man and rock both bore the nicks and lines that came with the passage of time. Given the slow mobility associated with old age, it likely would have seemed to the everyday person – be they hobbit or man or elf – that neither the wizard nor the rock would be moving any time soon.

Both the rock and the wizard were waiting; the rock for the next gust of wind or deluge of rain that would weather a bit more and the wizard for a woman that would likely be weathered a bit more by the time her journey came to an end. Should she take him up on his offer, of course, that was key. That was why he had called _her_ to meet him at this particular clearing with this particular rock; he had the distinct feeling of certainty that she would indeed indulge him in this request. Gandalf the Grey was not a man wont to force others into doing as he wished but, to be perfectly and unabashedly honest, he rather had a penchant for convincing those whose aid he needed to convince themselves to give said aid.

A few more gusts of wind and puffs from his pipe as the minutes ticked by and the wizard Gandalf soon heard the first signs of the woman he sought. The padding of feet atop leaves announced the visitor's presence behind him and Gandalf turned about on his rock to get a better look at the girl he had not seen in…well, he supposed it had likely been a decade or two. Sure enough, he spotted her shadowed figure wavering in the tree line. She stood beside an ancient oak, one fair hand splayed out against its smooth bark.

"And so she approaches on two feet rather than four," Gandalf called, not yet rising from his stone perch.

From the shadows of the great oak, the young woman regarded her old friend thoughtfully for a moment before stepping forward. Her approach brought warmth to the little forest clearing that lay just south of the rolling hills of Hobbiton and the Shire. Where the morning had been breezy and dim, it seemed to brighten as the little woman came nearer. Unlike the elven kind that lived to the east, this woman did not carry with her great bearing of person nor beauty that served to trick the eye into seeing something greater than what was actually there. Instead, the genuine warmth of her nature seemed to stretch out around her. Her presence in the clearing made the birds sing a little louder and sun shine a little brighter. The birds and trees were all mere coincidence, of course, but for Gandalf it was a happy coincidence nonetheless. The woman did not truly affect the natural world around her; she simply existed peacefully within it much the same way as a daffodil exists in a patch of clover.

From beneath the brim of his pointy wizard's hat, Gandalf beamed at her. "Orla, daughter of Beorn! It does my old heart good to see you again, my dear!"

An equally broad grin spread across the young woman's face as she sped up her pace to hurry to stand in front of the wizard. He finally stood just as she reached him, old bones creaking as he did so. Flinging her arms out to grip his bony shoulders, Orla clasp him tight. A woman of few words, she said nothing by way of greeting to her friend but Gandalf paid it no mind. Such was her nature, he knew. Releasing him and standing back, the girl raised her eyes all the way up the near foot and a half of difference in height to meet Gandalf's fond gaze.

The wizard took a moment to look at her, pleased as punch to know that she was well. Life in the wilderness suited her. The mass of unruly golden curls atop her head shown in the emerging sun like dwarven gold. Though she did not possess the petite, chiseled features of the elves or even the fair, unblemished skin of the Rohirrim, she was a lovely enough sight for Gandalf's weary eyes. Small, close-sit eyes framed by too-pale lashes sat above a child's upturned button nose and a mouth that was a bit too wide for the rest of her features. She was pretty in the way young doe is; plain at a glance but rather enchanting the longer one looked at her.

"I had thought to look for a beast but here you are! On two legs just as I last saw you!" Gandalf chuckled and patted young Orla's arms.

The cheeky thing winked at him, as if to say that she would be more than happy to remedy the two-leggedness should he ask it of her. Unbeknownst to few other than Gandalf, Orla, daughter of Beorn the Bear-man, took after her father in that respect. Slipping her arm through his, Orla tugged him back down to the rock he had earlier been seated on. The wide, flat stone was large enough for the both of them to have a seat and they did so. Orla folded her legs beneath herself to politely give Gandalf the most room.

Knowing that despite the girl's cheerful smile, he would not likely be able to coax much conversation out of her, Gandalf deemed it suitable to set right into business. "I have a favor to ask of you, Orla dear," Gandalf explained. A single knarled hand was placed upon her knee and Orla eyed it with thinly veiled amusement. She knew exactly why he had sent for her.

_Hurry it up, _her eyes seemed to tease, _I've flowers to pick and fields to skip through. _The look was all in good humor, naturally. In all his many, many, many years, Gandalf had rarely met a being from any race that was possessed of eyes as expressive as this young woman's. A single glance or narrowed glare could convey a world of information to a complete stranger that may be utterly unaccustomed to her looks and ways.

"In a hurry are you?" Gandalf chuckled and shook his head. "Very well, very well! I shant avoid the subject a single moment longer."

Orla grinned at him appreciatively and patted his hand as a granddaughter would.

"I have arranged an…expedition of sorts. It shall be a company of fourteen. Thirteen dwarves and a single hobbit." At the mention of a hobbit, Orla tilted her head curiously, sending a mass of curls into her face. Gandalf was certain she was familiar with the little creatures and knew quite well that they thoroughly disliked adventures. Distaste for questing aside, they were about as close to nature as she was, tucked away in their little hobbit holes as they were. Flitting from wood to wood as she did, the wizard figured she must have encountered a few of the miniature beings in her travels.

Undaunted, Gandalf went on, "The company led by Thorin Oakenshield has departed the Shire and is bound for Bywater by noon today. I'll be rejoining their company there at the Green Dragon Inn." Up and down Orla's fair had bobbed in recognition of the establishment's name. "They'll be in some danger until I can steer them toward Lord Elrond and his elves in Rivendell –"

_Ah ha!_ Orla's eyebrows rose and she snapped her fingers at the wizard. _And you want me to follow them? _ Her face skewed with skepticism, twisting her features into a comic mask of curiosity and uncertainty. Her mouth pursed and she frowned. _Really, old man? _

The wizard chuckled heartily once more and raised his hands in peace. "It is a lot to ask of you, I know. But I fear that I cannot always be with the dwarves and they shall be in desperate need of guidance before long."

Orla smirked and a humored snort escaped her. It was a noise suited for any one of Thorin and Co. In that single sound, Gandalf heard all of the following: _Of course they will! They're dwarves._

"You need not expose yourself should you deem it unnecessary. I will help them for as long as I can. And you can merely..."

_Watch? _Once more an eyebrow quirked up and, with wide eyes and a grin, Orla shook her head.

"Well! It's what you do best is it not? Besides hunting and tracking and fishing and building campfires and turning into spirits know what when the sun goes down?" He recited his list with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile that was meant to sway the young woman.

Waving her hands at him, she seemed to concede.

Serious once more, the grey wizard asked, "May I count on you as far as the Last Homely House?"

His wizened eyes read the girl's final question in her eyes. The misty grey orbs of her eyes narrowed as her youthful brow set to furrowing as she met and held his ancient gaze.

"They are good people," Gandalf assured her quietly, answering her unspoken query.

She quirked a single brow, an expression which sent a row of fine golden hairs halfway up to her hairline. _Truly?_ she seemed to ask.

The wizard nodded and at once the young woman's expression settled once again. She was satisfied. For one to understand how such a simple statement could convince her to commit to such a complicated task, one would have to first understand both the wizard and the young woman whom he addressed. Being that neither of the two were to be easily understood, it was a most fortunate thing for them both that no one was around to question the agreement that passed between them.

"I will do this," the woman said quietly, "for you, Gandalf…my friend." The words were the first she had said to him in many years and only upon hearing them was he reminded that she did indeed possess the ability to speak.

Gandalf smiled a big toothy smile that caused the wrinkled skin of his face to pull back, making him look a few merry centuries younger.

"Good! Good!" With a groan born of old age, the grey wizard stood, pressing his weight against the staff that rested in his hand. "Accompany an old man to Bywater, would you please?"

Orla nodded just once and waved her hand to gesture that he should move ahead. His current goal met, Gandalf was all too happy to proceed. "Off we go!" He called loudly, his words not faltering with the rush of air that suddenly gusted from behind him. He felt no need to turn and look back at the young woman he had been conversing with moments earlier. Indeed, if he had, he would have found that the woman was no longer there and instead at his side trotted a sleek, tawny-colored timber wolf with eyes as grey as his robes and the rock he had just been seated upon.

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"I knew you'd come along, you know." The dwarf leaned conspiratorially closer to the little hobbit as he helped the shorter man saddle his pack to the little mare.

Bilbo Baggins frowned, an expression that was mostly hidden by the light brown mop of hair atop his head. He craned his body away from the dwarf – Fili or Kili, he couldn't be sure – and said, "Did you, now?"

"Aye! Got the look of an adventurer about you, Mr. Baggins."

"Don't let him lie to you, Bilbo," without warning the other brother appeared, startling the poor hobbit half out of his skin, "You look like a burglar to be sure!"

The look on the hobbit's face soon transcended from a mere frown to an outright scowl at the second dwarf's joke.

"I am decidedly _not_ a burglar!" Bilbo objected. With a huff he swatted one of the dwarves away from his pony's pack. The dwarf, who turned out to be Kili, chuckled heartily and stepped away from the now secure saddle pack.

"Fili's only having a laugh. Don't mind him." A firm hand came down on Bilbo's shoulder and gave it squeeze and the hobbit was forced to look up at the young dwarf archer.

"Don't mind me?" Fili feigned offence, pressing his hand to his chest in mock injury. "What of you?" the elder brother demanded.

Without missing a beat, Kili responded, "Me? I'm charming."

Of all the dwarves in Thorin Oakenshield's mighty company, Kili was the youngest and his good natured demeanor shown as brightly as the rest of his persona. Unlike some of the other dwarves, namely Dwalin and Thorin, the two brothers had not yet been hardened by battle and war. For the most part, Bilbo found the two of them to be tolerable, helpful even - sometimes.

Barking laughter erupted from the fair-haired brother's lips. "Charming? _Charming_? I believe Mr. Baggins would disagree most fervently, aye, Mr. Baggins?"

But Mr. Baggins had already gone. Slipping from between the bickering siblings, he disappeared amidst the rest of the company before another word could be said to him.

"Hey, you scared off our burglar!" Kili popped his brother roughly across the arm.

"I thought you said he was an adventurer, not a burglar," Fili retorted, massaging the offended arm with his other hand.

Kili opened his mouth to respond but quickly closed it again when a third figure appeared at the brothers' sides.

"Done bickering like old maids?" Their uncle asked. There was an unspoken threat in the leader's voice, one that promised both of the young dwarves that if they did not immediately cease and desist their banter then they would spend the next week on look out duty. Both brothers nodded wordlessly in response, locking their handsome jaws without another word. "Good," Thorin growled, "then finish up with the ponies. We're leaving soon." With that, off Thorin stomped once more to dictate his law to the rest of the unfortunates.

Despite semi-popular opinion, Kili was no fool and waited until Thorin was a fair distance away before he whirled back around to face his brother. "_Leaving soon?"_ he mouthed silently at his brother who shrugged in response.

Fili's response was equally quiet. "_Gandalf must be back_."

Kili nodded and with one more curious look at his older brother, turned to do as he was told.

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"Gandalf," Thorin's voice rang out among the hustle and bustle of the packing dwarves, full of authority and piss and vinegar, "You've returned." Regardless of his terseness, he really was glad to see the old wizard. Thorin did not much feel like babysitting a homesick hobbit without him.

The wizard greeted the dwarf prince with a slight bob of his head. His tattered grey hat, which Thorin suspected was old as its wearer, pitched forward precariously but never quite slid off; the longevity of the hat's existence atop the wizard's head was one of the few observations that never ceased to amaze Thorin Oakenshield even in the long time the two had know each other.

The two companions were standing in front of the Green Dragon Inn of Bywater; Gandalf had only just arrived. At Thorin's back, the Inn lulled in the midmorning slump of business, its tall chimney pumping out a steady stack of smoke from the inner kitchens. The smell of roast mutton and seasoned chicken filled the air but the dwarves paid it little mind, having had their fill of meat not an hour earlier as they waited for the return of the wizard. The town of Bywater lay just beyond the bend and was just as quiet as the Inn. The lack of activity in Bywater (and its proximity to the home of a certain hobbit) made it a perfect meeting place for the troop of dwarves to ready themselves for the road.

"I assume your friend was well?" Thorin queried. He did not much care for idle conversation but the wizard's various comings and goings intrigued him.

"Begging your pardon?" Gandalf asked none too convincingly.

"You told me you had gone to see an old friend of yours –"

"Ah!" Gandalf exclaimed with a clap of his hands, "Yes, yes! My friend –as you've so labeled her – is preparing for an adventure herself. Or perhaps she has already prepared for it. Hard to tell with the likes of her. Will she need a bed roll or will she sleep on the leaves? Will she eat her vegetables and rolls or munch on venison? Shall she wear a cloak of fur or of cotton? Quite complicated my friend is, really."

The wizard did not think he had ever seen Thorin quite so taken aback and he would be the first to admit that he took great pleasure in being the cause of the prince's sudden fluster.

"Oh, confusticate you, old man! I was merely asking a question!"

With a grunt of annoyance, Thorin threw up his hands and turned away from the wizard, chain mail and buckles jingling with oddly musical notes as he did so. In his hurry to stomp away from the grey wizard, he did manage to cool his heels long enough to call back over his shoulder. "We shall be leaving the Green Dragon within the hour. Best you saddle your horse lest you trail behind us the whole way!"

Under his breath, the old trickster replied, "No, I believe I shall leave the trailing to her."

"What?" called Thorin once more, having not quite heard the other man's words. Puzzled and more than a little suspicious, Thorin's dark blue gaze narrowed to pinpricks against Gandalf.

"Nothing, nothing at all!" And with those parting words, the wizard grinned beneath his great grey beard and cast a fleeting glance at the line of woods beyond the tavern.

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**Believe it or not this story is dedicated to and inspired by…my dog. Well, my old dog, Cheyenne, who died many moons ago. Cheyenne was a wolf hybrid (part husky, part timber wolf) and was, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the best dog-gone dog ever. At risk of waxing poetic, she had these huge brown eyes that were the most expressive of any I've ever come across, human or animal. So yeah, Orla is certainly based off of my old girl. For those of you interested in these sorts of things, you should google wolf hybrids and take a look. They really are beautiful animals (though not legal in every US state so…).**

**Drop me a note if you liked it or spotted any mistakes! I love to know what ya'll think about it. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**~Fresh**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome to chapter two! Hope you like it!**

**Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing! I'll get back to everyone, I promise! The response was WAY bigger than I thought it would be.**

**oh, and I just went to see the Hobbit for the second time this morning since my fiancé hadn't seen it yet. It was still just as awesome :)**

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The first few nights of the journey after leaving Bywater were uneventful. The days passed slowly with the sun coming and going a dozen times over as the company headed east toward the Misty Mountains. The Shire was left behind them and the distance between Bilbo and his little hobbit hole grew ever wider. The rolling green hills of Hobbiton and its surrounding meadows quickly gave way to the thick woods and craggy rocks that bordered the plains.

Luckily for the hobbit and the ponies both, Thorin pushed his dwarves at a pace that allowed them to cover much ground without becoming too tiresome. All the while, behind the group of fourteen trailed one more. This fifteenth presence remained unseen and nearly unheard, save for once when Bilbo's sharp hearing picked up the barely-there trot of paws. He mentioned this to one of the older dwarves, Balin, who quickly attributed the noise to a wolf or forest creature of some sort. Little Bilbo had a fright at that, yelping loudly enough to cause all of the company to turn and eye him with varying degrees of amusement and annoyance.

"Wolves? Is that what you told our dear burglar, Balin?" Fili called from some distance ahead of Balin and Bilbo.

"A wolf," old Balin corrected, "_One_. Maybe."

From his place beside Thorin, Fili's brother turned and grinned at the hobbit riding a few ponies away. "Wolves often prey on the weakest, you know."

"I have heard that is the case –" began Bilbo, only he was quieted when an exasperated Balin placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The old dwarf gave a silent shake of his head and Bilbo's mouth clamped shut tighter than the magic dwarven doors of Erebor.

Instead it was Bofur, who was perhaps the friendliest of the Dwarves, who responded to Kili's comment for the hobbit. "Oh, dear!" he crowed dramatically, "That is terrible news for you indeed, Kili!"

That shot silenced the youngest dwarf somewhat and he turned back around on his pony, red-faced with his ears burning. Bilbo offered Bofur an appreciative glance, careful, however, not to make it too friendly. Truth be told, Bilbo was not in an overly friendly sort of mood at the moment. He _had_ forgotten all his handkerchiefs, after all.

While all this went on around him, Gandalf the Grey was content to remain silent. He, of course, knew of the wolf that was following the company and he knew that really the animal was not a wolf at all and meant none of the travelers any harm. Even Thorin seemed unconcerned. Given all that the dwarf prince had seen, a lone wolf was not anything for him to get excited over. Regardless, in an effort to placate the nervous hobbit, Thorin ordered Kili to ride back and keep an eye on the little burglar, if only for the sake of keeping him quiet while they traveled. Fouler things than wolves were about in these woods and it would not do for the halfling to give away their party with his squeaking and squawking. Gandalf, who rode beside the expedition's leader, kept quiet about the beast that followed them, confident that if anything truly nasty did come their way then they would at least get a howl of warning.

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Following the dwarves was entertaining at the very least. Their pace was not such that the wolf could not keep up and their antics actually instilled in her the desire to do so. In the years since she left her father's house near the borders of Mirkwood, she had lived mostly alone, visiting towns and villages only so often, and the wolf-woman would have been the first to admit that the dwarves were a nice change of pace from solitude. A little one rode among them, which she knew to be the hobbit of whom Gandalf had spoken. The others teased him like the runt of the litter, harassment that was not necessarily unfounded, and the wolf quickly decided that if anyone in the company should need protecting it would almost certainly be him.

The alpha, whom the wolf guessed to be Thorin Oakenshield, seemed as if he would do what he could to keep the others safe. Despite the huff and puff of some of the other dwarves, Thorin proved to be quiet most of the time– sometimes even withdrawn. He was a little coarse when he did actually speak and he growled a lot but then so did the wolf's father, so Thorin's nature hardly phased her at all. It appeared to the wolf that his mind was elsewhere, as if he thought of some place faraway from these local forests. As with nearly everyone in the current age, the wolf had heard of how the Kingdom under the Mountain had been taken by Smaug after the destruction of Dale. She supposed that Thorin, more than anyone, had a right to his silence. That silence however, gave him opportunity to remain alert; he seemed as sharp as he was strong and despite her best efforts, his dark blue eyes nearly spotted the wolf more often than she would have liked, forcing her to slink further into the woods.

After more than a week of having to trod on all fours, the woman's muscles began to ache within the wolf's skin. For a while it felt as if she would have to follow the group on two feet. The decision to do so meant that her senses would be lessened but that was no great loss. The forests in these parts were relatively safe with the exception of one or two wondering orcs and wild wolves. If anything, she would be the one in danger, not the dwarves, while she walked on two legs. She was unarmed and even if she had a sword or dagger, it likely would do her little good. She had no skill with a blade besides that which was required for skinning animals. When available, a bow was her weapon of choice. Only one of the dwarves carried such a weapon from what she could see and she did not much fancy stealing it from him. Eventually, the decision to remain in her animal form seemed like the only viable choice and, with hardly more than a whine, she resigned herself to follow the dwarves a bit longer.

A day or so later, the wind picked up. It blustered through the trees with unusual ferocity for spring weather. Pine needles and oak leaves alike blew from the tree tops and into the faces of the travelers, forcing them all, even the wolf, to close their eyes against the force. Carried on the wind was the scent of rain. It was a heavy smell, one wet with moisture from the gathering clouds overhead.

It would hardly do the dwarves or her any good to be caught in the quickly approaching deluge. The human part of the wolf desperately wanted to find a crevice or stump to take shelter under but it seemed that neither could be found. Fifty or so yards away, she heard one dwarf call out over the steadily increasing wind.

"Thorin! We need to take shelter. The bottom's about to fall out."

With a huff too quiet for any of the company to hear, the wolf seconded the suggestion.

"We keep moving!" responded Thorin, his deep baritone carrying far without having to be raised.

Two similarly pitched groans echoed after the lead dwarf's decree and the wolf suspected it was the young brothers who dared make the sounds. Had she at the moment vocal chords capable of repeating the noise, she probably would have done the same.

"It's not far to an abandoned farmhouse I happen to know of. I will lead you there." The voice was Gandalf's, the wolf realized. She knew of the place he spoke of and knew that she could make it there within the hour if she hurried. It would be possible to head the dwarves off there _and_ get out of the rain. Surely, she hoped, they would be fine in the meantime.

For the moment, it was a sound enough plan.

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"Light the damned fire, Oin!"

"The wood and tender are soaked through to the core! How, pray tell, am I to light it?"

"With fire, you swit!"

"If I had fire to light it with, Gloin, I wouldn't be having this problem to begin with, would I, you rock head?"

For nearly an hour, Gloin and Oin had been arguing back and forth over how best to light the fire, if it could even be lit at all, and neither of the two dwarves had made any progress in accomplishing their task. It had not been long since Thorin had called the company to a halt so that camp could be made. Gandalf's idea to travel on towards the old farmhouse fell through once the rain came to be accompanied by lightening. "Change the weather," the dwarves pleaded repeatedly but the wizard would do no such thing. Tired of their water-drenched whining, both he and Thorin had decided it was best to just hunker down for the night beneath the canopy of trees.

Meanwhile, cousins Bofur and Bifur had set to work setting up a makeshift cover with blankets hung between the trees. Dori, Ori, and Nori took it on themselves to prepare dinner, only to be disappointed when it was realized that there would be no fire tonight (failure courtesy of Gloin and Oin, naturally). Poor, fat Bombur sat atop a stump, disheartened with the whole ordeal. Fili and Kili kept near the ponies and away from Thorin and Balin, who had both threatened to kill them painfully if they did not stop the incessant bickering that had started once the rain came down.

Only Dwalin sat near the hobbit. To his credit, Bilbo only complained once or twice before resigning himself to a chilly, uncomfortable night. Wordlessly, Dwalin, the largest and possibly the most cantankerous of all the dwarves, tugged a dark green bundle from his rucksack and shoved it at the hobbit. Bilbo accepted what the dwarf offered and unraveled it only to find that it was a spare cloak and hood that Dwalin had packed.

"Thank you," Bilbo told Dwalin quietly, pulling the cloak up around his shoulders, too surprised by the show of kindness to really say much else.

As expected, Dwalin waved him off without another word before clomping off through the mud to pry Oin and Gloin apart, their fire-ignited feud having finally come to blows. Nearby, Thorin and Gandalf were arguing about what course to take and whether or not it should be bound for the direction of Rivendell. Unsurprisingly, Thorin's feelings on the matter were strongly negative. In a fit, Gandalf tossed his hands into the air before disappearing through a thicket of trees and bushes. Bilbo watched him go until the tip of the wizard's tall had hat disappeared from sight entirely.

"Where's he going?" The hobbit looked up to see Fili standing beside him, his eyes turned to watch the wizard's exit from camp.

Bilbo explained, "He and Thorin…exchanged words."

Where one brother went, the other was not far behind and a moment later Kili appeared at Bilbo's elbow, saying, "Why, that's a delicate way to put it. Uncle Thorin 'exchanges words' with everybody."

"Well, it happened all the same, now didn't it?"

"Now, now, master hobbit, we're just curious," Kili replied defensively, "You know the wizard better than we."

Sighing, Bilbo shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm just tired, that's all. Don't mind me." Indeed, if the dark bags under the hobbit's eyes were any indication, he was telling the truth.

Fili, being the gentler of the two brothers, placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Kili, on the other hand, chose to send his fingers into the hobbit's wet hair and give it a good ruffle.

"Don't mind you?" the youngest dwarf jested, "If we didn't, we'd have no one to look after!"

"Besides, you're more entertaining than Kili," Fili supplied helpfully, causing Bilbo to groan helplessly between the two brothers.

"He is not!" objected Kili with an affronted scowl.

"Is too! I would know."

"Don't the both of you have ponies to watch?" Bilbo asked in desperation. He tried his best to hide his eyes for he knew they would reveal every bit of frustration he felt.

"An apt point, Mr. Baggins! Let's get to it. Come along, little brother." With that, Fili grabbed his brother by the arm and hauled him off in the direction of the ponies.

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The night became neither dryer nor warmer as it progressed and the dwarves' groaning and moaning became ever louder as their misery grew. For once, Fili and Kili were happy to have look out duty, which put them some distance away from the bellyaching. They both sat under a wide tree, happy to let its branches catch most of the rain. Before them, twelve ponies munched away at their feedbags. It did not occur to either brother initially that _twelve_ ponies was not the correct number of ponies at all.

As was his nature, being the youngest, Kili could only entertain himself for so long. When his whittling began to bore him and he had run out of songs to hum, he inevitably turned to his brother for conversation.

"Brother?"

Fili did not bother to look at him, too busy pretending to count the leaves in the trees. "Yes, Kili?'

"What do you think of the halfling?"

"I think he's a decent fellow, Kili, if not cut from our sort of cloth."

"I like him," Kili declared with a firm nod of his head. The way he said it made it sound as if he was speaking more to himself than Fili.

"You like everyone, little brother."

To that, Kili found that he had little to say. Being so young and inexperienced by dwarven standards meant that he had not yet acquired the suspicion that was natural with their race. Unlike his uncle, Kili did not have a natural hatred of elves and neither did his brother. Likewise, they both enjoyed slaying orcs and goblins for sport but neither of them truly _hated_ the twisted beings with the burning passion of Thorin or Dwalin or even old Balin. They had not been made to suffer as the others had with the siege of Erebor and had lived relatively privileged lives up until this point; Thorin had seen to that, at least.

Thinking of another question quickly, as was his way, Kili asked, "What of the wizard?"

Fili grinned and replied, "Gandalf? Now, him I like. Anyone with steel enough to stand up to Uncle the way he does is a man to be admired."

"Good. I like him, too." Kili quickly added, "Even if he does disappear. A lot." Frowning at the thought of the wizard's most recent disappearance, Kili tossed away the little twig he had been whittling away at.

He was just about to ask another question when he caught a glimpse of something in the woods beyond. Though dwarves' eyes were not known to be as keen as those of elves, or even hobbits, Kili was quick to spot the odd little glow that spilled out between the tree trunks. Silently, he stood, pushing himself up from the base of the old tree, and reached for the bow at his back.

"Do you see that, Fili?" he asked in a whisper. Behind him, his brother stood but by then Kili had already moved forward several feet. "Is that a fire?" His dark eyes narrowed in an effort to better focus on the glowing patch of light.

Fili was just about to answer him when suddenly a different, much less quiet voice rang out behind them. Both brothers whirled about, tucking their drawn weapons inconspicuously behind their backs.

"Bilbo!"

The hobbit coughed uncomfortably and shifted his large feet about as he searched for his words. "Bombor sent me with dinner for you both. It's stew. Cold, leftover stew because there's no fire but…stew just the same."

FIli glanced at Kili and Kili back at him, both realizing simultaneously that this was a _burglar_ standing before them, after all.

"Mr. Baggins –"

"Bilbo –"

Both began to speak and each one grabbed an elbow as they maneuvered the hobbit over to a nearby log. They crouched down and urged poor Bilbo to do the same despite his armful of stew.

"Take the stew, would you please – wait, where are the ponies?" Bilbo asked all of the sudden. The food was suddenly forgotten, which was quite a remarkable feat in and of itself for a hobbit.

"Ponies?" Fili and Kili asked. At once their handsome heads turned in the direction of the makeshift corral.

Eyes widening at the sight before him, Fili hissed, "Their gone!"

With a alarmed gasp that any well-to-do hobbitwoman attending Sunday tea would be proud of, Bilbo exclaimed, "Myrtle!" Collecting himself under the scrutiny of two dwarves whose eyebrows had risen into their hairlines at his sound, he asked, "Did they wander off, you think?"

"I doubt it," Kili responded, "Let's have a look." With no warning, he and Fili hoisted Bilbo up and over the log and urged him forward. He made to look back at them in horror but was somewhat relieved when he realized that they did actually intend to follow him. The three crept forward a few yards until Fili quietly called them all to a halt.

"Trolls!" He ground out the word, his teeth clinched at the sight of the vile creatures that had dared steal the ponies he had been trusted to watch.

Kili, who was looking rather excited about the development, gripped Bilbo by his collar and shoved him forward. "Go have a quick look, burglar –"

"But you said I was adventurer!" Bilbo interrupted with a squeak.

"You're an adventurous burglar! Now go have a quick look and come back. If you can. And if you can't, hoot twice like a barn owl and once like a screech owl and we'll come running."

With language that was rather strong in hobbit terms, Bilbo turned to go forward, leaving Fili and Kili to watch after him.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Kili asked when the halfling had moved up far enough.

Shaking his head, Fili slapped a brotherly hand across Kili's back. "Best you have your bow at the ready."

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**Things should be picking up in the next chapter. I had to find some way to lead in to the dwarves' paths crossing with Orla's so this chapter was sort of necessary. Anyway, the next two chapters are already written so I'll update soon :)**

**Thanks again for the responses. I enjoy reading ya'll comments and if anyone spots a mistake I've missed, just let me know and I'll change it. **

**~Fresh**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to all of you for your reviews! I've gotten back to some of you already and I'm just really, really pleased that you all seem to like the idea of Orla. Ya'll's reviews are my muse whenever the dusty little muse bunny in my head is out :) If anyone ever has an idea for something they would like to see in this story or think would be a neat addition, please don't be afraid to drop me a note about it. I might not be able to use everything due to the fact that I have to get to point A to point Z. But, hey, as readers ya'll have some sway over how I get there.**

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The wolf awoke the following morning, dry but not quite warm. She had taken refuge under the timbers of the farmhouse's burned down shed. Light was just beginning to peak over the tree tops to mark the break of a new, hopefully rain free day. With a whining stretch, she shook out her bones, satisfied with the _pop-pop_ of her joints. It was only then that she sniffed the air…and found it alarmingly devoid of any smells - dwarf, wizard, or hobbit. Had they not made it to the farm house? With a worried whimper, she slinked out from beneath the charred timbers to find that there was hardly a sign of any travelers to be found, much less dwarf travelers.

Surely, she could not have failed so miserably in her task for the wizard already. They had not even made it to Rivendell and so far she had given little to no guidance as Gandalf had asked her to. Panicked, the wolf bounced around the farmhouse foundations and the surrounding yard, sniffing at the grass. Even if the dwarves had been there during the night – and she seriously doubted that they had since she had not heard them – the rain had already washed away any scent and she could not hope to follow a trail where there was none.

All was not lost, however. In her early days of hunting the land, she had once shot a deer and the arrow had struck it low. The wounded, gut-shot animal had managed to scramble away and further into the forest just as rain began pouring down. It had washed away any sign of blood and tracks that she could have followed and, in a desperate effort to end the animal's misery, she had been forced to track without aid of her animal senses. Following the trail she had suspected the animal to have taken, along with broken branches and crushed bushes, she had rather quickly found the deer once more.

As far as she knew, the last place she had seen the dwarves was no more than five miles to the west. If they had decided not to make for the farmhouse, then they most likely were still camped in the thick of the woods, which would have provided the most cover from the downpour. Sitting off at a quick lope, the wolf hurried through the woods she knew so well. If something other than inclement weather had stopped the dwarves' arrival then she had little to no time to waste lest she risk breaking her promise to the Grey Wizard. And upsetting Gandalf the Grey was most certainly not on her list of things to do for the day.

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Trolls. She could smell their stench half a mile away despite the effects of the rain. The run to retrace her steps had been difficult and her sides were heaving as a result, the tawny coated muscles billowing out as she continued to move along. It would not be much further before she discovered whether or not she was too late.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the wolf burst into a tiny clearing that was just big enough to contain the three distinctively stony trolls that now adorned it. She paced the camp and was enormously pleased to discover that there were no dwarf bodies or dwarf bones to be found. But, she realized, that also meant that sooner or later she would have to explain her absence in this time of crisis to Gandalf. And somehow she doubted she would get away from _that_ conversation with only a few meaningful glances.

Still, there was no time for her to stop yet. The dwarves were still nowhere to be found but, by the grace of the spirits, this time there were footprints for her to follow. From what she could tell, they were relatively fresh; the mud that they were encased in had yet to dry in the morning sun. Huffing once more to gather her breath, the wolf continued her search, determined to find the dwarves again before some sort of disaster befell them once more.

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With the troll camp not far behind them, the dwarves hurriedly made for the edge of the Trollshaws, heading toward the River Bruinen. Thorin was guiding them toward a place in the river that was widely known as the Ford, where they would hopefully be able to do just that in order to get across. Fording rivers was dangerous enough for Men folk and elves but for the shorter races of Middle Earth it could get downright hairy.

"Is there no other way around, Gandalf?" Thorin asked when the wizard came to stand at his side.

"No, I'm afraid. This is where the river is narrowest and shallowest. If you plan on continuing toward the Misty Mountains, you'll have to cross here. Unless you want to risk the rapids, of course. If you do, then, please, by all means continue on your merry way."

"You, old man, are no help at all."

"I'm plenty of help and so is my burglar!" Gandalf stared down his long nose at the dwarf prince, his bushy grey eyebrows tugging together into a frighteningly straight line that rather resembled some sort of shaggy haired creature having been stretched over his eyes.

Thorin scowled. "Still on about the trolls are you?"

"I should like to point out that you got a rather nice sword out of the whole business, so I don't see why you're complaining, Thorin, son of Thrain."

By this point, Thorin was looking a bit beyond indignant, just enough so that his cheeks had reddened beneath his unshaven beard and his eyebrows, too, resembled a second hairy critter ready to pounce straight off his face and onto that of the wizard's.

"What," he growled, "took you so long?"

To his query, Gandalf said nothing. Thorin tried again, doing his able best to calm himself. "Where did you go, _if I may ask_?"

The wizard's reply was simple. "To look ahead."

"And what brought you back?"

"Looking behind."

"I…" Thorin found that his frustration had left him. Gandalf's answer had – surprisingly - placated him. He had heard more in that simple answer than most would have. Instead, he bowed his head slightly and said, "Thank you."

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The River Bruinen stretched before Thorin and Company, as daunting as any challenge they had yet faced. Even the trolls the night before had only been slightly more terrifying. While the river could not roast the dwarves upon spit and threaten to eat them for dinner, its current could very well sweep them away to never be heard from again. Supplies and ponies could easily be lost in the rush of water while they tried to cross, not to mention to mention the potential for calamity when clumsy hobbits and headstrong young dwarves were taken into account.

"Cheer up, Bilbo! This'll be fun!" Kili was grinning like a madman at the prospect of braving the river and for some inexplicable reason he felt that Bilbo should be doing the same.

Bilbo did not look so convinced. "I've never done this before. We have no big, swift rivers in Hobbiton, just little creeks and streams and even those are covered by bridges. A hobbit doesn't even have to get his feet wet to cross them if he doesn't want to." Both of his little hands went into his hair to pull at the light brown curls in anticipation.

"Fili won't let you fall in," promised Kili, "You can sit on his shoulders."

This seemed like news to Fili because his blond head popped up in alarm from beside Myrtle the pack pony.

"I thought dwarves didn't like water," Bilbo stated, having smiled apologetically at Fili, who still looked troubled at the prospect of having to balance a hobbit on his shoulders while wading through chest-deep, quick running water.

"Oh, we only dislike bath water. River water, lake water, and all the other kinds of water are fine," Kili explained teasingly, "Though I 'spose after last night I don't much like rain water either."

"I'll second that!" Beside them, Bofur had appeared with Bifur at his side. The perpetually cheerful dwarf grinned at Bilbo and gave him a polite nod before turning back to Kili. "Thorin says you're to go last and bring up the rear with Bombur."

"That'll be fine," Kili nodded, "Whatever Thorin wants." Doubtless, if Thorin had asked Kili to cartwheel through the river's rapids with a bag on his head and an apple in his mouth, the young dwarf probably would have tried it.

Beside his cousin, Bifur grunted in rough ancient dwarvish and pointed at the hobbit. Bofur, while not entirely understanding what Bifur had said, got the gist of the gesture and obligingly voiced his cousin's garbled query in more understandable terms. "He wants to know how the hobbit's getting across."

Nearby, Fili made to speak but Kili beat him to it, much to the older brother's consternation. "Fili's volunteered to carry the halfling across."

"Has he now?" Bofur shook his head, a suspiciously knowing smile playing beneath his great mustache.

"Well, no," Kili admitted, cheeks flushing, "But it'll be fun to watch."

Both Bofur and his cousin chuckled, their laughter coming heartily and from deep in their bellies as it usually did. Shaking their heads at the youngest dwarf, their snickering still coming in bouts, they turned to walk away. Only Bofur paused and turned to wink at the little hobbit, who was looking woefully abused at the moment. "If you or Fili need help, Mr. Baggins, just give a shout. Me or ol' Bifur will come after you."

All too soon, the ponies were readied for the crossing as were the dwarves. Thorin would go first, along with Gandalf, and behind them would follow Fili and Bilbo. The rest of the dwarves would cross two by two with Bombur and Kili bringing up the rear.

At first it all went smoothly. If Thorin feared the water – and no one ever dared say he did – then he made no show of it, wading fearlessly into the strong current and never stopping until he reached the other side. Gandalf was not far behind him and was surprisingly agile for a man of his age, though it was suspected his lack of trouble may or may not have had something to do with his being a wizard. Poor Fili kept his mouth clamped shut and did not voice a single complaint as Bilbo scampered up onto his shoulders. Both performed admirably during the crossing and Thorin told them precisely that as soon as they reached the other side. Dwalin fared well for the water only came halfway up his chest instead of being shoulder level as it was with most of the other dwarves; Balin trailed after him, though his pony nearly pulled the old dwarf under a time or two. Dori, Ori, and Nori came next, all in line, and when Ori was nearly swept under Dori and Nori pulled him up again, sputtering and splashing, and hauled him safely to the other side. Gloin and Oin powered through, although Oin's eye was swollen shut from his spat with Gloin and that made his going somewhat tougher. Bofur's and Bifur's attempt was filled with shouts of Khuzdul which no one dared translate to the little hobbit who stood by watching.

It was not until the end of the crossing that the company had any trouble. Loveable and plump as dear Bombur was, he was not much of a horse handler or a swimmer, so the moment he tried to lead the trembling mare into the water, she snatched the reins right out of hands, leaving him to tumble and roll around at the edge of the water while she bolted forward. She was a weak thing, despite having carried Bombur all the way from Bywater, and the current quickly proved too much for her. It swept her away in a flurry of whinnies and splashing hooves. The supplies – mostly food since it was _Bombur's_ horse, after all – were knocked free before anyone had a chance to go after them and floated swiftly away, never to be seen again. Kili watched the whole thing unfold and, being the nearest, was the first to register what was happening. With a cry, he sprinted down the bank of the river, moving with surprising speed for a dwarf.

On the opposite side, the dwarves that knew him best realized with horror what he was going to do before Kili likely knew it himself. Both Thorin and Fili shouted out, their combined voices ringing over the water to be carried downriver along with the pony. They made for the edge of the river in a flurry of waving arms and bellowing shouts. Thorin's usual bearing was quickly discarded as he stared on in dismay while his youngest nephew sprinted toward the water's edge.

"Stop, Kili! For Durin's sake, let her go!" Fili cried hoarsely, his voice breaking in desperation. He was moving toward the water after Kili, bright eyes wide and pleading, when Thorin caught him by the shirt and held him fast. Fili struggled within his uncle's grip, his voice broken as he yelled out, "Please, little brother! Don't -"

Other than raise their voices in combined cries, there was nothing a single one of the dwarves could do from their side of the river other than shout for Kili to stop and let the mare go. But it did not appear that young, brave, foolish Kili was willing to do such thing and, with the entirety of Thorin and Company watching on, he reached the bend of the river at a point just ahead of the pony and, without hesitation, dove into the rapids after her.

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**Not a long chapter, I know but the next one is an important one :)**

**I know some of you were excited about the scene with the trolls but absolutely everybody includes it so I figured that I would instead add this. But hey, it's a great part of the book, there's no denying it. I did not see much that I could add to make it original so I glanced past it. Due to the fact that Orla was unwittingly separated and had to spend time retracing her steps, I figured the troll encounter would have gone down during that time.**

**In the book, Tolkien actually does mention that Fili and Kili nearly drown when Bombur's horse bolts while fording the river. Geographically speaking, the scene I have included would make sense due to the fact that the Trollshaws are located just before the dwarves come to the Ford.**

**Anyway, I hope you liked just the same. **

**~Fresh**


	4. Chapter 4

It was by shear luck that the wolf came across the dwarf before he had floated past her downriver. She had only just emerged from the wooded Trollshaws when she heard the distant cries of dwarves. Her ears perked up and immediately she realized the danger that had sprung in her absence. She had no sense about her to think of what exactly might be wrong; all she did was sprint at a full run toward the river as fast as her four legs would carry her.

She slid to a halt, paws digging into the damp earth just around the bend in the river from the dwarves. A growl, low and deep, escaped her when she realized she was still out of their sight and could not yet see what had caused their uproar. It was only a moment later that she saw the top of a dwarf's dark head emerge from beneath the swirling rapids. Behind him floated a pony, her pretty equine head bobbing about just as his was, though doing a fair sight better in fighting the water.

They would reach a shallow point soon if the exposed rocks were any indication and the wolf realized that she had only a moment to act before both the pony and the dwarf were swept over the jagged rocks and down river. Water white-capped around the obstructions, racing past with alarming power that was so great neither the dwarf nor the pony could have much hope of avoiding being dashed against them.

The wolf darted toward the rocky shallows where the water whipped around the jagged, jutting stones. There she stepped out, her paws holding well enough against the rock. The dwarf was coming too quickly and at the rate he was going, he would be lucky if he did not first bash into the exposed rocks before she could pull him out. Thankfully, for the mare's sake, it appeared that he had managed to get a grip on the pony's reins.

The wolf braced herself and leaned out as far as she dared amidst the rushing water. Just as the dwarf came upon the rock face, she latched her jaws into his leather coat and, with all her strength, dragged him up out of the water before his body could bear the brunt of the damage from the rocks. Dazed as the dwarf was, his hand impressively never released its hold on the mare's bridle and she caught her footing long enough to force herself up out of the water as well.

Growling at the inconvenience of dragging a soaking wet dwarf - which was noticeably heavier than a dry dwarf - the wolf backed onto the river bank. Once on land, the pony broke free of the dwarf's grasp and trotted away, no worse for the wear. She would be picked up soon enough and, if not, then she would just have to wonder in the Wilds. So long as the pony was safe from the rapids, the wolf did not much care.

She continued to drag the sputtering and coughing dwarf away from the riverbank and up the crest of the nearest hill. There was shelter enough there and she would be able to protect him for the time being until he was back on his feet. She feared that if she left him by the water's edge, the others would come along around the bend and find them there. They would no doubt try to cross the rushing water to save the dwarf from the clutches of the unknown beast and then spirits only knew how many dwarves she would have to fish from the river at that point. No, she decided, the dwarf would be fine and so would his fretting companions. They would just have to worry for a little while.

There was an outcropping of rocks at the far base of the hill and, despite her waning strength, she somehow managed to get the dwarf there. Well, almost there. She had dragged him so far over bumps and brambles that he must have come to his senses because he jerked within her clutches suddenly. She had him by the collar of his coat, her fangs locked fast into the leather. With a cry, the dwarf whipped his head around as best he could to see what was dragging him along and, though while in her wolf form she could not _quite_ be sure of specific emotions, she would have wagered a guess from the expression on the dwarf's face that what he was feeling was very near full-fledged panic. His bleary eyes went wide, the brown irises getting lost in a sea of frightened white.

Again, he cried out, flinging his arms back to strike her. She deepened her snarl, sending it forth from the bottom of her throat in warning, but she did not let go. He could fight all he wanted but as weak as he was, he certainly was not going anywhere.

A few more feet spent tugging at the fighting dwarf and she had him beneath the outcropping of rocks. There would be just enough room for him to stand if he felt like it and the rock wall extended a bit on either side to provide cover from any that might harm them.

Angry, panicked dwarf relatives were not taken into consideration.

The wolf released him at once and bounded around in front of him before he could try to get up. She dared not change back into her human form yet for fear that the sight might well send him into a state of shock given the stress of what he had just gone through. As she popped around him, the dwarf scrambled back against the rock wall with a cry. His dark eyes were shining with something not unlike fear, though the wolf suspected he was too proud to show it outright.

It was only as she looked at him now that she realized he was one of the younger dwarves, the second half of the duo she had found so amusing as she had followed them from Bywater. He appeared even younger than she had originally thought, perhaps only sixty or seventy at the most (though she was no expert in dwarf ages). He was a wild-eyed, handsome thing though he might not remain so for very long should he continue through life with the recklessness he had just displayed.

She thought he might reach for his weapon and, naturally, being the cornered, soggy dwarf he was, he did just that, his hand shooting to his side where his dagger rested. The wolf had anticipated this, however, and she leapt forward and with a well-placed nip, she urged him to drop the dagger. With a yelp, he did as she bid and she retreated as quickly as she could, fearing retaliation.

There, she sat, tucking her tail daintily beneath her as she continued to watch the dwarf. He stared at her, his eyes still wide, though this time it was in disbelief. To her relief, he made no other moves for his dagger.

They had not long been engaged in their staring contest when the wolf's keen eyes spotted a trail of thick red liquid dripping down from the dwarf's temple to his cheek. The blood mingled with the trimmed hair on his face, catching and clotting among the hairs though he made no move to wipe it away. She had the sneaking suspicion that the dwarf had yet to notice the gash at all since he was not moaning and rolling about on the ground as a he should be.

Communicating with intelligent beings while in one's animal form was generally avoided as a rule of thumb among Middle Earth's skin-changers. Unable to speak and unwilling to change form, the wolf whimpered and tossed her nose in the air in the direction of the dwarf's wound. She huffed and scoffed and made every noise she could to try and direct his attention to the wound on his head.

Unsurprisingly - not to mention with a whimper or two of his own - he responded by pressing further against the rock at his back until the leather of his coat protested squeakily in refusal to budge the stone. She whined louder and the dwarf's eyes narrowed, his thick brows knitting together. It was then that he seemed to feel the gash as he winced and drew his hand up to the wound. With careful fingers he poked and prodded blindly at the spot.

The wolf could hardly stand to watch the dwarf's display of useless attention to the injury and she shifted to stand. She lowered her head to the ground, the most nonthreatening thing she could do at the moment, and moved to step forward.

The dwarf was quick to cease his examination of his injury and one hand whipped out to jab a blood-stained finger at her.

"Don't you come any closer!"

His words were spoken through teeth gritted in pain and the wolf whined again but did as he asked. She lay down, this time on her belly with her paws outstretched before her. The dwarf watched her dubiously. Undoubtedly, he was still sitting on pins and needles waiting for her rip his throat out. She supposed he was uncertain whether he should be more concerned about the state of his bashed in skull or the beast that lay at his feet. His concern about the animal in front of him seemed to win out, interestingly enough, because he drew his feet in closer, tucking his knees into his chest.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he asked, "Are you…going to eat me?"

The wolf whined and let her head drop to her paws. She looked up at him through large grey eyes and for a moment the dwarf's fear appeared to lessen. Wiggling her back legs, the wolf inched forward, her paws fishing out for the ugly brown pair of boots in front of her.

"Hey," the dwarf ground out, his voice low with warning. For a moment, the wolf did not move. She merely continued to lay there as the dwarf studied her. His dagger seemed forgotten, thankfully, and the wolf took it as a good sign. Wriggling forward once more, she covered the last of the distance to his feet where she laid a single paw on the top of one of his boots.

He wavered for a moment but finally decided against moving his feet away.

"You pulled me out of the water, didn't you, beast – wait just a moment, I'm talking to a dog." He scowled and tossed his head upon catching himself at the realization. "Oh, nevermind!"

Indignant at his usage of the word "dog," the wolf chuffed unhappily. The young dwarf's dark brows rose and he leaned away, daring to inch a little closer to the mouth of the outcrop. "Can you understand me?"

The wolf took the chance to sit up and when she did, the dwarf scrambled to stand, his movements nothing but a blur of unbalanced feet and hands. He was unsuccessful in the endeavor, however, as the wolf feared he would be. She had witnessed the birth of a fawn once and recalled the way the little animal had tottered and swayed about the first time it tried to stand; the sight before her was not too unlike that memory. Both had been equally humorous to her though this one proved to be edged with more worry for the dwarf than she had felt for the fawn. He teetered on his legs, hands going to his head to brace himself against the too-light feeling that came from the loss of blood. Not a moment later, he plopped back to the ground, slumped over, and passed out before the wolf could even move to soften his fall.

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That night at camp, no one said a word. Only Thorin sang; it was a slow, baleful tune with a sound enveloped them all, settling over them like a shroud. The song's drawling cadence was a sorrowful one and each of the twelve remaining dwarves bowed their heads as Thorin's broken baritone filled the night air.

For hours they had searched along the river bank but they found no sign of Kili. They had recovered Bombur's mare but that was hardly worth celebrating, given what they had lost. Fili would say nothing. Not even old Balin could coax a word from the lad; he only sat, his mind and spirit far, far away from the shadows of the Misty Mountains. He had cried out the loudest of them all, even daring to wade out into the river's mighty waters with Thorin at his side until the others pulled them back, refusing to let them cross to the other side.

"He's not over there," Dwalin tried to reason with them both, "He would not have made it out of sight of the riverbank." Thorin, in a bout of grief, had nearly taken a swing at his old friend.

The minutes ticked by beneath the stars and finally Fili stood just as Thorin reached the end of his song.

"He's not dead," the young dwarf proclaimed solemnly, "I would know it if he was."

Without another word, Fili set off toward the bank to resume his search for his brother. Thorin watched him go, his mouth set in a hard line as if it were some sort of barricade meant to hold back any tears that might be welling up behind his eyes. He nodded after Fili but made no immediate motion to follow him. Instead, with a wave of his hand, he motioned for Nori to saddle two of the ponies.

Standing, Thorin said, "We'll keep looking. The rest of you…get some sleep." The normal sternness of his voice had mellowed in the last few hours and the ensuing feelings had left the dwarf prince swathed in a solemnity that was rarely seen even by those who knew him best.

Soon, Nori had the two ponies prepared and Thorin accepted the reins to both, taking one for himself and the other for Fili.

Some distance away from grieving dwarves, Gandalf sat alone with only Bilbo at his side. The hobbit feared that if he opened his mouth he would end up saying the wrong thing all together. This was not teatime with the Sackville-Bagginses or Tooks and the traditional "I'm sorry for your loss" would not be welcome here, not when he had seen the young lad swept away with his own two eyes. As such, manners were forgotten for the time being and Bilbo wisely kept his condolences to himself. Even Gandalf was remarkably silent. Every now and then, Bilbo would glance up and for the briefest of moments he would think he saw the glint of hopefulness in the old wizard's eyes but it would always disappear before the hobbit found the nerve to question it.

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Orla dared not build a fire for fear of attracting unwanted attention as she watched over the dwarf. She believed his name was Kili, or at least that's what she thought she had heard him called. The sun had not long gone down as she continued to maintain her vigil over him. She had watched the sky fall as it had taken with it the remainder of the day's mild warmth so that the night settled on them a chill. It was yet mid May but the land was so close to the Misty Mountains that it lacked the comfortable warmth of the Shire. Kili had eventually begun to shiver in spite of his unconsciousness and Orla had removed his waterlogged coat to replace it with her own. Not for the first time was she thankful for the fact that those with her gifts did not lose their clothes when they returned to their original forms, contrary to popular belief. Despite that fact, the extent of the mystical clothing magic only extended to her own body and she could do nothing about the fact that her coat was too small for the dwarf; regardless, it covered him well enough to help ease some of the cold he felt.

She had cleaned his wound as well as she was able, tearing cloth from the edges of her shirt in order to bandage the wound. The fine cotton blouse she wore was surely ruined but she did not much mind so long as the bleeding stopped and the dwarf pulled through. How she was going to explain the presence of a woman's coat and bandages to Kili when he awoke, she was not certain. _I most likely won't_, she thought with a quiet hum to herself. She would just have to change back into a wolf, she decided. The idea did not appeal to her but she had little choice and, for the dwarf's sake, she would resign herself to it.

Sliding away from the wall she had been seated against, she moved to check on Kili once more. He looked well enough considering what he had suffered and as she peeked under the edge of the bandages around his head, Orla found that the bleeding had indeed stopped. She did not immediately pull her hand away and instead let it rest against the dwarf's cheek. Never had she seen a dwarf that was quite so handsome, though she guessed that might be attributed his youth. He did not much look like a dwarf at all, come to think of it, and the observation perplexed her. She caught herself wondering whether or not his beard and nose would continue to grow as the decades went by, until eventually he might look like the rest of his kin. It seemed an awful shame to her; she liked nature and had a deep appreciation of the natural beauty of all things, be they trees, animals, or even dwarves, apparently.

Kili stirred briefly under her touch and Orla quickly drew her hand away for fear of waking him. _Best I stop watching him sleep. I would certainly wake if under such scrutiny. _She thought that if their positions were reversed and she was the one to wake to a stranger staring at her as she slept, it would give her quite a fright.

In the distance, she could hear the calls of his kin as they searched along the river. They sounded so desperate, so very _lost_, that their cries tugged at her heart, twisting it until she felt that she had done wrong in not delivering Kili to their camp immediately. Despite the unwelcomed feeling, she knew that she had really had no choice in the matter.

'_Twas not _**my**_ fault the dwarf passed out._ Still, she frowned, her pale brows knitting together with the disturbing thought of having caused pain to those who did not deserve it.

She thought about going to river to call out to the dwarves but decided against it after a short amount of deliberation. She had heard rumors of Thorin Oakenshield's 'beat-it-senseless first, ask questions later' approach to strangers and she knew that she did not have the ability to fend off a group of twelve dwarves should Thorin decide that she was deserving of such measures. From what she had seen of him, she doubted he would resort to such tactics but she could not quite convince herself to take that course of action. So, she decided to sit tight for the moment and tune out the sorrowful dwarven voices that carried so clearly through the night air.

A low moan broke through the night air and Orla's head jerked back over her shoulder. Kili wriggled in his sleep, clearly caught somewhere between the blurry line of being aware of his pain and the bliss of unconsciousness. His stout legs kicked out and from the outline of his hands beneath the dark leather of her coat, Orla watched as his fingers clenched and unclenched in pain.

Orla's eyes softened as she watched on as the dwarf struggled in his sleep. She thought to herself, _You're in much pain, aren't you, dwarf?_ No doubt the injury on his head and the bruises on his body were to account for whatever he was feeling. Knowing that she had caused Kili's kin enough suffering this night, she could not very well allow Kili to feel the same.

With a sigh, she stood, pushing up from where her knees bent against the cool ground. She dared not leave Kili unwatched for too long and made up her mind to hurry. Stepping out from under the outcrop, Orla scanned the nearby terrain for any sign of the plant she was looking for, one that would ease the dwarf's ailment and speed his healing. It was a small, grey, weed-like plant that tended to grow throughout the forests and plains of Middle Earth. Athelas, or Kingsfoil as her father had called it, was fairly easy to find and could be counted on as a decent source of healing if one was in a real pinch. She had used it many times on herself during her travels and would know it on sight.

For several minutes, Orla searched, looking within the crevices of rocks and near the bases of the scattered trees that grew nearby. She was about to curse her luck when she happened to feel something soft give beneath her boot. Her eyes shot hopefully to whatever plant lay under her foot and as soon as she saw the little grey buds peeking from under her sole, a toothy grin broke over her face.

Gently, she plucked the plant from the earth and carried back to the outcropping were Kili lay. He was still asleep and the fit he had been having appeared to have quieted, much to Orla's silent delight. With well practiced movements, she set to grinding the Athelas between two rocks until its juices had broken most of the plant fibers into an unsightly grey-green mush. The smell was an unpleasant cross between mint and basil and it wafted up to Orla's sensitive nose so that she had to it hold out away from her as she tugged at Kili's bandages.

_Och! _She thought with the wrinkling of her nose as she braced herself against the odor, _I had forgotten the smell of Athelas. Like a roast-rub gone horribly wrong. Spirits, dwarf, you best feel better after this! _

She kept her movements gentle, her fingers working carefully to unwrap the bindings around his head. Once he was free of them, she applied the paste to the wound, slathering it on until it had settled against the dwarf's skin. When that had been done, Orla wiped her hands clean against her pants, happy to be rid of the awful smelling plant. She re-wrapped the bandages around Kili's head. As she did so, she allowed his head to rest in her lap, his dark hair spreading over knees like a curtain. It did not escape her as she watched him that the young dwarf did not snore even within the depths of slumber. She had always imagined dwarves to be accomplished sleepers, dosing as loudly as they did soundly. He deserved a rest, Orla supposed, and she scolded herself again for paying him too much attention while he slept. Softly, she slipped her hands beneath his head and lifted it from her knees as she moved away from him. Dawn would be upon them in a few hours and as such it would not be long before she had to shed her human form once again.

With one last curious look at the young dwarf, Orla expelled a heavy breath and turned away from him to settle in the far corner of the outcrop. Had the dwarf been awake and in his right senses, he just might have caught the words she whispered as she turned away.

"May you feel better when the sun rises, master dwarf, for I do not wish for my hide to adorn the back of Thorin Oakenshield any time soon."

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**Alrighty, so Orla has finally met Kili. Sort of.**

**More plot progress will be made in the next chapter, promise. I was just enjoying writing about Orla perving on Kili while he slept. There is just something freaky about staring at someone in their sleep but I think we can forgive her innocent curiousity for now. **

**Nah...it's still creepy.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Please, leave me any thoughts you have in a review!**

**~Fresh**


	5. Chapter 5

**Alright, folks this is the last chapter before things seriously get rolling. It's long but bear with me. I know many of you are ready for Orla to meet everyone (as a human) but this part really is necessary for development as a whole.**

**Hope you like it just the same :)**

**Thanks for reading! I really do appreciate everyone's interest.**

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Kili awoke just after dawn. The early morning sun, with its headache-inducing rosy pink and gold tones, was harsh against his eyes. His head throbbed with a dull but present ache. Too proud to groan aloud, he sat up - albeit slowly, as that was all his bruised body could allow. Before long he felt a stirring at his feet and he looked down to see the wolf from the night before, her brandy colored fur bristling with each breath. Suspicious of his new found companion, Kili wriggled his fingers and toes as if to make certain that the wolf had not nibbled any of the digits off during the night. He realized that he was not irreversibly maimed, much to his relief, and exhaled a baited breath. The noise woke the wolf from her slumber and she sat up with a stretch.

"Still here are you?"

He really had not intended to ask the question aloud but the beast at his feet seemed oddly intelligent, so speaking to her did not seem unforgivably strange. The wolf's head cocked to the side, her ears pricking tall as she did so. _Of course_, she seemed to say in reply. Well, it was that or '_I can't understand you, you dumb dwarf', _which Kili thought was the more likely option.

He pushed himself the rest of the way up so that he was flat on his butt and could see well enough to look around. Feeling the pull of cloth against his temple, his hand instinctively went to his head and as it did, whatever had been covering his body slid from his arms into his lap.

Picking up what he had thought was his own outerwear, he eyed it curiously for a long moment before it occurred to him what it was. _It's a… woman's coat,_ Kili realized with no small amount of alarm.

"By Durin," he crowed accusingly, flinging the covering from his body, "Did you eat a woman and bring me her coat?!"

The wolf leapt to her feet in obvious indignation, nothing but glares and growls, and promptly turned her back on Kili to face the other direction. Kili's reproachful frown softened as he watched her and for some bizarre reason unknown to even his own mind, he found himself having to force away feelings of embarrassment at having offended the beast.

In a voice that some would call timid, the dwarf asked, "Are you…pouting?"

The wolf's head snapped around and those sharp grey eyes of hers pinched together. Yes, Kili realized, the animal _was_ indeed creature was strangely attuned to emotion it seemed and the young dwarf felt his initial alarm fading away into genuine, he-really-ought-to-know-better curiosity.

_An odd creature, isn't she? A beast of 'true and magnificent origin' as Ori would say. _Kili's lips quirked at the thought of what the young scholar would make of the beast. Maybe Ori would be able to explain her if he were here. _I bet even ol' Balin would have something to say about her_. Immediately and without his bidding, Kili's thoughts turned to his brother. Fili was surely out of his mind with worry and would not give too hoots about the wolf; Kili certainly would be if the situation had been reversed.

Groaning at the thought, Kili leaned back onto the hard ground. His hands came up to rub at his eyes and he muttered a string of dwarven curses, the most colorful of which made no sense to the wolf's listening ears.

Poor Fili, always the responsible one. More than once had Kili's older brother pulled his arse out of the fire and not once had he ever complained about doing so, despite Kili's best efforts to conduct repeat performances. Never before had Kili given Fili quite so bad a scare as that which he was surely experiencing now. And his uncle…Kili did not even want to think about what Thorin must be feeling at the thought of losing one of his heirs.

"I have to get back to them," he declared aloud, "They likely won't have gone far."

With a muttered breath to distract himself from the wooziness, he stood, bracing himself against the rock as his legs threatened to give out again. He held his ground, however, and managed the first step he had taken in several hours. He kept one hand against the rough rock face, the stone reassuring beneath his dwarven palm. As he tottered toward the mouth of the outcrop, mumbling each step of the way, the wolf suddenly bounded in front of him. She blocked his path, her eyes drawn together in a strangely human expression of stubbornness. If was as if she were telling him he was forgetting something.

"What?" Kili grumbled, glaring down at the beast.

She growled back, though not threateningly.

Frustration took root inside him and Kili waved a hand at the animal. Punctuating each word, he shouted, "I. Don't. Speak. Dog."

In the shadows of her eyes, Kili would have sworn she cursed him. Her snout wrinkled to reveal sharp fangs, she seemed to say, _Not one step further or…I'll eat you_. Although that last part might have been Kili's imagination, he halted his shuffling gait all the same.

Satisfied, the wolf stood and trotted off behind him. Kili watched her go and saw her snatch up the mysterious coat that probably belonged to a woman he was still not quite convinced hadn't been devoured sometime during the night. With the leather coat held gently between her jaws, the wolf returned to Kili's side and sat, nudging her snout under his hand.

_Here, carry this_, those grey eyes of hers said.

Cursing but unwilling to argue with something that seemed dangerously close to being fed up with his complaints, Kili snatched the coat away from the wolf and laid it across his shoulder for safe keeping.

"Now you've got me carrying some trophy from one of your innocent victims. Some nephew to the king I am."

The wolf only continued to look at him.

"What?" snapped the dwarf, "I'm not wearing it."

Shaking his head, Kili made up his mind to move on. He still needed to find Thorin and his brother and standing there arguing with a dog all day was not going to aid him in doing so. Slow on his feet, he moved toward the mouth of the outcrop and said to the wolf, "Now, don't you try to stop me –" But before he could finish his words, the wolf trotted out ahead of him, easily surpassing his injured gait. "Fine, just fine that," Kili grumbled, "Show off. _Hmph_."

As he turned the corner of the outcrop, the sun's warmth embraced him fully, chasing away the remaining chill he felt as its rays highlighted his bruised face and arms. He glanced down at his fingers and winced. Two or three of his knuckles were black and blue from scrabbling amongst the Bruinen's rocks but the more he wiggled them, the more certain he became that he could still wield his bow. At least, he could if he ever found it again. The weapon was gone; Kili guessed that it must have been swept away when he dove into the water.

The wolf had already disappeared halfway up the hill and it took the dwarf a moment of searching to find her again.

"What? Are you coming, too?" he called after her. He sighed. "Of course, you are. Well, lead on!" He gestured with a wave of his hand.

It took him longer than he would have liked to admit to reach the top of the hill but the wolf waited patiently for him, sitting serenely ahead of him, her grey eyes never straying from his form. When he finally reached the crest, Kili was pleasantly surprised to see that the river he had nearly drowned in was not more than twenty yards away. Rather than cross along the rocky shallows that had nearly been the end of him, Kili followed the wolf further downriver. They traveled for a little over a mile before the rapids emptied out into a more serene branch of the river.

For a long while Kili had wondered why the wolf was leading him this way rather than upriver toward the Ford. Once or twice he thought about going his own way but just as he was about to do so the idea occurred to him that Thorin and the others had likely traveled along the current of the river in search of him. If they were to be found, it would be in this direction. He fervently refused to acknowledge that an animal had thought of this before he had.

At the water's edge the wolf paused and looked back at him.

"I'm still here," he remarked dryly. The soggy wet leather of his coat squeaked as he folded his arms over his chest. "Are you going to –" his voice trailed off as soon as the wolf leapt into the water. With a splash, her head emerged from the Bruinen's crystal depths and off she paddled in the direction of the opposite side. Before long the water became too deep for her paws to touch the bottom and she swam across the expanse of water. Reaching the other side, she dragged herself out and turned at once to face Kili from across the distance.

Kili said not one word of complaint when he realized that he would have to do the same. With a self resigned sigh, he waded out into the water. He had nearly forgotten the coat that rested on his shoulders and had only caught it from the corner of his eye as it began to float off downriver. Snatching it back up, he pretended not to notice the glare of warning directed at him from the beast.

Though this part of the river was calmer than the place where the company had crossed the day before, it would have been much too deep for ponies loaded down with supplies, otherwise Kili would have made a mental note to tell Thorin of this spot for future reference.

Once again sopping wet, Kili climbed to his feet when he reached the other side and just as he did, the wolf shook out her coat, drops of water and fur flying into his face.

"No!" he moaned in protest but it was too late – the wolf was already jogging away. _She did that on purpose! _It only took a moment for Kili to catch the all too familiar tug of his lips as they pulled back over his teeth. He had forgotten to scowl at the odd animal and was instead grinning amusedly after her. Never let it be said that he could not appreciate a sense of humor even when it came from the most unexpected places.

It seemed as if the pair had walked for half a day, though the placement of the sun in the sky indicated otherwise. Beneath him, Kili's feet were starting to drag, weighed down by his own tiredness and the pain that was slowly returning to his head. He hoped that it would not be much further and yet part of him acknowledged that even if he had to trudge another ten leagues he would not stop until he had found his kin, until he knew that their minds were at ease.

It was not long before the wolf stopped still in her tracks. Her ears twitched and she tilted her head as if to listen. A moment later she turned back to Kili and looked up at him, her eyes revealing more than they should have been able. It was then that Kili heard the ruckus for himself. The loud sound of arguing voices and the clanging of pots and pans drifted over the air and filled his ears as if it were the most beautiful sound in all the world.

Beside him, the wolf whimpered and Kili could not help but look down at her. "Best you go back to where you came from, beast."

But the wolf did not move.

"They might kill you if they see you. My uncle does not take kindly to wolves."

Standing as still as the stone trolls, she did not so much as flinch at his words. Kili frowned at the stubbornness of the animal. She was like Fili in that regard and it seemed that she was by his side until she saw that he was truly safe. Without thinking, Kili reached out to drag his hand across the soft fur of her head, his fingers disappearing beneath the tawny mop. He had never petted a wolf before and doubted he would get the chance again. The beast seemed pleased with this development and she bowed her head low enough for him to rub behind her ears. The action caused Kili to smile despite himself and his desire grew to return the favor of safekeeping that the wolf had shown him.

"I…alright, then. But it's best if you lag behind."

Dragging his hand away from the wolf's head, Kili started up the hill. The wolf did as she was told and waited for him to cover half the distance before she followed silently behind. As Kili crested the hill, his eyes fell gratefully on the sight below him. The thirteen familiar faces of Thorin and Company were spread below. Mr. Baggins was beside Gandalf, fiddling with something in his coat pockets. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur were kicking dirt over a smoldering fire while Gloin and Oin dismantled the spit that had been over it. Dori, Ori, and Nori were huddled close together along with Dwalin and Balin, their hands flinging out periodically to gesture at the two remaining dwarves of the line of Durin. Thorin and Fili sat alone at the edge of camp, their eyes cast upon the River Bruinen. Fili's head lay in his hands, his fingers drawn back through his mane-like hair. In Thorin's hands lay the familiar shape of Kili's bow. Thorin worked the weapon between his fingers, ghosting over the craftsmanship sadly, treating it as if it was the last reminder he had in the world of his youngest nephew. The look on his family's faces caused Kili's heart to wrench within his chest and he moved forward, ready to put an end to the dwarves' misery.

The pain and exhaustion he had felt earlier was forgotten as his feet carried him swiftly down the hill.

"Uncle! Fili!" he cried, sliding amongst the grassy terrain and rocks.

Thirteen pairs of eyes – fourteen counting Gandalf's – turned to look at him, all wide in bewilderment. Fili shot to his feet, his mouth hung open in disbelief, and beside him Thorin's mask of shock quickly gave way to something Kili had not seen from the man in a long while; he smiled - a bright, joyful grin of relief and reunion.

"Kili!" Fili hurried toward his brother, pushing aside the awestruck dwarves that were in his way. "You're alive! I knew you were!"

Kili met his brother at the bottom of the hill and slung one arm around Fili's angular shoulders for an embrace. He could not quite find the words to speak but was instead content to clasp his brother to him. Thorin and Balin joined them not long after, only to be followed by the other dwarves as they settled on Kili like a swarm of bees.

Thorin's powerful hand came down on Kili's shoulder and squeezed. "I feared I'd lost part of what little family I have left," his eyes softened as he watched his nephew, "I am glad to see that you proved me wrong."

Kili nodded his head at the praise, happy to have it. No doubt Thorin would have his ear later to chastise him for his recklessness but for now Kili was content to take what he could get. His bow was still resting in the dwarf prince's hand and Thorin caught his eyes lingering on it. "Here," he said, holding the weapon out to Kili, "We found this by the river's edge."

Kili accepted the bow with a smile. Its curve fit securely in his hand, the woodwork as familiar as the family around him.

"Are those bandages on your head, laddie? Did ye hurt ye'self?" It was old Balin who spoke, having jostled his way to Kili's side.

Kili's face fell at the observation. He had not thought of where the bandages had come from when he had first noticed them earlier that morning. Quickly, his hand went to his head to tug at the cloth until it slipped from around his head to reveal a gash that had been covered with a sick, grey-green paste. The paste had long since dried, its color fading into the blood of the injury.

"Hold still, boy," Balin instructed as he reached out his hand to touch the wound. Kili resisted the urge to flinch; he would not do so while so close under his uncle's watchful eye. Humming sounds of interest while the other dwarves looked on, Balin scratched a bit of the flaky substance from Kili's face and lifted it to his nose to sniff.

"Kingsfoil?" Balin smelled the paste again and then nodded definitively. "Yes, kingsfoil."

Thorin's brow creased at his old friend's proclamation and he looked to Kili in surprise. "Where did you learn about Kingsfoil, Kili?"

Kili shook his head, still bewildered by the thought that someone other than the wolf had been in the little outcropping with him. "I didn't," he replied quietly.

Thinking of this, he pulled into his hands the woman's coat that lay across his shoulders. Dark brown and worn, the supple leather was pliant beneath his fingers as he eyed the article suspiciously. Someone _had_ been in there with him.

From behind the mass of dwarves, the Grey Wizard cleared his throat loudly and they all spun around to look at him. He eyes were focused solely on the coat in Kili's hands. If he had anything to say, he clearly was not going to share it aloud but Kili could not quite shake the feeling that Gandalf would have a better explanation than anyone else could muster.

He was about to say as much when suddenly he heard Bifur cry out in Khuzdul. Bifur was pointing at something, his bent and crooked index finger extended to direct their attention to a newcomer on the hill behind them.

"Warg!" shouted Oin.

"It's a wolf, you dimrock!" Gloin snapped in response.

Kili whirled about to see that the wolf had finally braved the top of the hill and was standing stock still, frozen in mid-step as she took in the scene below her.

"Kill it!" someone cried and Kili thought that it might have been Ori. He spun around to see that Fili had one of his throwing knives drawn.

With a shout, Kili knocked away his brother's hand before he was able to let loose the knife. "Brother, no!"

From the back of the group, Gandalf seconded Kili's cry. The wizard's voice rang out loud and clear in the air with a stern demand that no one should so much as throw a stone at the approaching wolf.

"All of you stop!" Kili growled. He retreated several steps and extended his hand to beckon the wolf closer. She held fast, her eyes not wavering from the large cluster of uncertain dwarves.

Kili called out to her, "Come here."

"Kili," Thorin snarled in warning but his nephew paid him no heed.

The wolf's head slowly turned in the direction of the company's leader, looking past Kili, and there she held Thorin's dangerous gaze. She met it fearlessly and neither she nor the dwarf prince wavered.

Taking a breath, his gaze still leveled on the strange beast, Thorin seemed to realize what the others had not. "That," he said through clenched teeth, "is no ordinary wolf." Whether he saw in her eyes the same oddly human intelligence that Kili had come to notice, he did not say. But neither did he order for any of their weapons to be lowered. Finally, the wolf turned her eyes from him back to Kili and when she did, Thorin took the opportunity to glance at the hills around him.

Kili saw his suspicions written across his face and told him, "There are no more, Uncle. She is the only one."

Without waiting for his uncle's consent, Kili strode forward, ignoring the muffled cries of warning from the other dwarves, and made his way over to the waiting animal. She slunk over to his side and allowed him brush his hands through her fur, stroking her neck like he would any house dog. A few yards away, several of the dwarves grumbled in disbelief. Thorin continued to wear his caution like a cloak, his hard eyes never straying from the beast that stood at his nephew's side.

"She pulled me from the river," Kili told them all, "Grabbed me by the collar with her teeth and hauled me out before I made it to the rapids."

Dori was shaking his head disapprovingly. "Wolves are notoriously tricky beasts. Perhaps it is just waiting for you to turn you back."

"She sat with me through the night," Kili argued.

Suddenly the wolf let out a quick, half-barking sound and by the time Kili looked down at her, she had darted away. Around the cluster of dwarves she went, with them all turning en masse as she passed. It took everyone a moment to realize who the wolf was headed for and when they did a flurry of cries went up to warn the Grey Wizard.

Gandalf paid them no mind; indeed, a broad, knowing smile spread over his lips as he gingerly knelt to meet the wolf. She stopped when she reached him and forced her head into the palm of his knarled hand. _Go on, pet me_. Her demand was obvious for all to see.

Gandalf chuckled and worked his fingers through the thick fur of the wolf's neck and chest.

"I had wondered when I would see you again," he said when the wolf finally stepped away and sat back. All of this was to the bewilderment of the dwarves, even Kili, and they watched with rapt attention as the wizard continued to speak to the beast. "If you don't mind an old man asking…just where were you when these confounded dwarves got themselves into that mess with the trolls?"

The wolf whined and swatted her tale against the ground.

Several startled mumbles went up as Thorin pushed himself to the front of the group.

"You know of this beast, Gandalf?" he demanded, his eyes still hard and cold as they watched the wolf.

"Oh, yes!" Gandalf replied with a laugh, "Though I doubt that she would hardly approve of you calling her a 'beast'."

The dwarf prince made a face at the wizard's words. His brows tugged together and his lips pinched oddly as if he had suddenly found a lemon in his mouth. Both Kili and Fili appeared beside their uncle, having worked their way around the other dwarves. Kili was looking on in disbelief. He shook his head and folded his arms over his chest. "I should have known," he grumbled and directed a frown at the wolf.

Though he had almost been forgotten amid the developments of the afternoon, Bilbo finally found his voice. The little hobbit dared not take one step closer to the beast that sat nearby as he remarked, "I knew I had seen something following us a while back."

"Indeed, my friend here has been with you all since you left Bywater."

It was Thorin who spoke next. "Since Bywater?"

Gandalf hummed loudly in affirmation. "Don't look so surprised, Thorin. I told you I had to speak to a friend, did I not?"

"This," Thorin looked skeptical as he pointed to the wolf, "_This_ is your friend?"

"In a manner," Gandalf confirmed.

The way his features from one expression to the next it seemed that Thorin could not quite make up his mind about what he felt, so, straightening his back, he cleared his throat and said, "Right…Does this beast – _wolf_ have a name?"

"I'm certain she does," Gandalf replied as he eyed the wolf, "but I am afraid it is not mine to give. If you desire to learn it, Thorin, you'll have to ask _her_ for it."

"_Ask_ her? _Her_?" Thorin's mouth clamped shut so tight the sound of his teeth snapping together was heard all around. Tossing his hands in frustration, he whirled about to face the group of dwarves. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get everything together, we're moving out! And you," he turned to face Kili, his gloved finger level with the tip of the young dwarf's nose, "You go sit with that miserable wizard and see what he can do for that head of yours."

Kili bowed his head respectfully but refused to acknowledge that the relief Thorin had felt fom his arrival had finally gone. As the other dwarves jumped to bustling around him, Kili wandered over to where Gandalf stood with the wolf and the hobbit.

Looking up from the wolf, Gandalf smiled kindly at the approaching dwarf. "Kili, do you require healing, my boy?"

"I do."

"Well, it never has been my strong suit but sit and I will do what I can."

They got on like that for a little while, with Gandalf grazing his fingers over Kili's temple and mumbling words that were incoherent to the dwarve's ears. Before long, some of the sting began to fade away even if the injury itself remained.

"Gandalf," Kili asked just as the wizard was concluding his healing, "who do you think attended to my wound?"

"Why, the wolf did, of course." Beside Gandalf, the wolf chuffed and flicked her eyes to meet Kili's.

Kili sighed. He should not have expected anything more. With quiet words of thanks, he stood and departed the wizard's side. For a moment, he expected the wolf to join him but when he looked back he was surprised – and perhaps a little disappointed – to see that she continued to lay beside Gandalf and the hobbit, her head resting atop her paws and her eyes not so much as sparing a glance after him.

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For the most part the dwarves left the wolf alone. She kept pace beside Gandalf's horse as the company rode over the hills that lay cradled in the shadows of the Misty Mountains. The terrain grew ever more rocky; huge boulders sprung up from the ground like trees and each brought with it the potential for ambush. It was not unknown for wargs and their orc riders to wander these lands and Thorin knew as much. He remained watchful with each passing mile as he directed his dwarves back along the Bruinen River. Few ever complained, each of them remaining stalwart and loyal despite the saddle sores that grew on their rumps.

They knew that Rivendell was near, its sacred halls tucked away in a valley at the mouth of the wilds of the mountains. Thorin staunchly refused to go near the Last Homely House regardless of their need for supplies and rest. None of the dwarves thought to question him on this decision; they would follow Thorin to the ends of the world and back if he only asked them.

The sun was just beginning to set over the hilltops in the distance when Thorin announced that they would ride until dark before making camp. They had been thrown off course by Kili's accident and had time to make up for. All around them, the fading light fell over them like a shadow. The pinks gave way to purples and orange-golds as the sky retreated into darkness. Even the clouds above seemed to follow the sun from its temporary home, leaving the sky open and clear of anything other than stars.

Guiding his pony along the rough ground, Thorin's eyes swept over the area for a suitable place to rest. Beneath him, his pony tossed its head, sending its black mane cascading through the air. It snorted and pawed the ground mid-step and it occurred to Thorin that something must have upset the gelding. Glancing down, he saw that Gandalf's pet had come to join him and was now loping alongside the pony. As if sensing Thorin's eyes on her, the wolf glanced up, her gait slowing when she felt the warning in his glare. Thorin had heard her whine for attention from Gandalf and Kili but the beast did no such thing now that she trailed beside him. She fell back obediently without him having to utter a word.

An hour after nightfall, Thorin finally decided on a suitable place to make came. The land stretched out around them, flat for half a mile on each side, with a large enough rock formation that they could set camp behind. The dwarves did so thankfully, each one dismounting his pony bemoaning his aching muscles.

Gloin groused, "I'll be glad to be rid of these blasted nags!"

"Aye, perhaps, but you won't be saying that for long once you've had to walk for days on your own two feet," Bofur replied meaningfully. Gloin mumbled in response but said nothing else.

Like the rest of the dwarves, Kili and Fili did their share of unpacking, tending to the ponies as was their usual duty. They unsaddled each of them and hitched their bridles to stakes in the ground. Fili had not let Kili out of his sight since his younger brother's return and each time Kili would skirt to the edge of the fair-haired dwarf's vision, Fili would whirl about and warn him not wander off.

"Do you see any rivers around here, Fili?" Kili asked in exasperation. Not even he had enough talent for mischief to fall in rivers where there were none.

"No," Fili called as he handed Myrtle a handful of hay, "But I do see a reckless little brother who finds trouble wherever he is."

"In the middle of camp?"

Kili turned to stomp away, his foot coming down hard on something considerably softer as he took his first step. A loud yelp went out and a blur of pale fur darted around his legs.

"See what I mean?" Fili snorted as he watched the wolf that had been slinking behind Kili tuck tail and hurry away from the dwarf that had stepped on her.

"Shouldn't have been under my feet," Kili muttered, though when he thought his brother was not looking, he did cast an apologetic glance at the animal that had retreated to Thorin's side.

Across camp, Thorin watched the wolf with veiled curiosity. She had come to settle beside him, her body curled around itself to fend off the chill in the air. Every so often Thorin would catch her sharp eyes lingering on him as if sizing him up, judging him somehow. She made not a sound, as she did amongst the others, and it would have been easy to forget that she was there if had not been against Thorin's nature to do so. Throughout dinner, the wolf never stopped watching him. If Thorin reached for his water flask, her eyes beat him to it. If he stood to stride across camp, she followed alongside him.

Finally, when he could condone being followed for not one moment longer, Thorin turned to the wolf and gripped her roughly around the muzzle. She snorted in annoyance but sat still.

"Go back to your master, beast," Thorin commanded sternly, "I've no use for a pet."

As he spoke, he did not notice the presence that appeared behind him, looming over him in the darkness. "She has no master, Thorin Oakenshield, but she has served your nephew well. Or have forgotten already?"

It was Gandalf's voice that grated in Thorin's ear but there was sense in the wizard's words and Thorin released the wolf, a fair bit more gently than he had grabbed her. "Gandalf," he said as he turned to look up the towering distance between he and the old man, "You more than most should know the tales of wolves from Gundabad and how they serve –"

"Thorin, I would advise you not to call her a warg one more time lest she bite you!"

Thorin cast his gaze down to glare pointedly at the wolf who remained at his side.

"I cannot abide your dwarven stubbornness for much longer," Gandalf scowled, "Do not look past good fortune when it comes upon you freely. I would bet you my beard – which is considerably longer than yours, might I add – that you have never met a creature such as the likes of the one who now follows you."

Thorin's frown abated somewhat and he looked away from both the beast and the wizard. Not far away, Kili sat with his brother, safe and whole and smiling as if nothing had befallen him. In the young dwarf's lap rested a plate laden with the dinner Bombur had prepared for them all. It was rabbit, Thorin knew because he had indulged in a bit himself, and Kili continued to pick away it as his uncle watched on. Eventually, his nephew cast his eyes up across camp and in the dark they came to rest on the wolf, who appeared to sense the new attention and twisted her head around to see Kili waving a piece of rabbit haunch at her. Off the wolf went, leaving Thorin behind as he watched her go. She rested by Kili, happily accepting the meat like any domesticated dog would table scraps. She did not growl, did not flinch or glare, when Kili's hand came down to pet her head with surprising tenderness. Seeing this, Thorin's hard look softened. She seemed an earnest enough creature and he could find no fault in that. The dwarves that followed him each possessed such traits, loyal to a fault at times, and Thorin found that, try as he might, he could not hold it against a mere animal for doing the same.

He had nearly forgotten the wizard's presence, his head snapping back around in blur of black hair when he heard Gandalf speak again. "They say dogs are good judges of character. Perhaps that is why she follows you, Thorin. Even that rockheaded nephew of yours has caught her attention."

"Aye," the dwarf prince conceded quietly. With a parting glance at the wizard, who was smiling a bit too broadly for Thorin's liking, he made his way back to his bedroll across camp where he pulled his sword from its sheath for sharpening. And this time, he had no thoughts of using against the beast that had joined his company.

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**Off to Rivendell in the next chapter! Super excited to introduce human Orla :) hehe, it will be delicious. There is a method to my madness when it comes to having TWO WHOLE CHAPTERS of wolf/dwarf interaction. Orla needs to be able to deal with the dwarves response to her as a wolf versus their response to her as a human because that tension will come into play further down the road. Just a note for anyone who is feeling a little frustrated reading about a dog. **

**Leave me your thoughts! Thanks again for reading :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Woah! The positive response to the last chapter blew me away. Thank you all so much (like, so RIDICULOUSLY much) for all your comments. They had me determined to write faster so that I wouldn't leave ya'll hanging. I think I got back to most of you but I lost track of the people I had responded to at some point. So if I have been I've been unforgivably rude and unsociable to some of you then just continue to spam me until I respond. Regardless, thank you all!**

**Oh, and I noticed some weird typos in the last chapter that must have occurred when I uploaded the document. Random words had been removed and lines seemed jumbled. I've tried to keep my eye for them here but it's hard to tell until I actually post it and by then its too late.**

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For half the night they all slept soundly. Only two remained awake in the company, excluding the wolf, who had wandered off into the darkness. The night had proved restless for Thorin despite the day's strain. Well past midnight, when the stars were at their peak, Thorin rose from his bed roll and went to join Dwalin for the night's watch. The hardy, battle-scarred dwarf, whom Thorin had known from childhood, greeted his prince with a firm nod of his tattooed head. He shifted on the ground to make room for Thorin, who settled easily beside him.

"Can't sleep I see."

"No," Thorin replied, "Rest has not come easily to me for some time now."

To this, Dwalin said nothing, merely giving Thorin a knowing look, one that transcended any words of sympathy he could have offered. It was a look from one warrior to another.

Before any further words could be spoken, there came a soft rustling from across camp. The Halfling had begun to stir, twisting from one side to the other. He did not seem quite awake as his small hands drew the large green cloak he wore tighter around his frame. He was cold, Thorin realized, but there was nothing to be done about it for the fire had long since burned to embers. Thorin's fingers crept to his own cloak and began to tug at the heavy metal clasp that bound it round his shoulders. It was only then, as his fingers loosened the clip, that the wolf came slinking out of the darkness. She crept towards the hobbit, her padded feet silent as she took care to avoid the various sleeping forms that dotted the camp. With Thorin's watchful gaze upon her, she found her way to Bilbo and dropped to her belly beside him, curling around the hobbit's shivering form. She tucked her nose on top of the hobbit's knee, and, as if in unconscious response, Bilbo's drowsy head shifted onto the soft fur of her haunches like she was some blessed down pillow that had magically appeared among the rocks.

Thorin's eyes widened as he took the scene in, his dark brows lingering near his hairline until he saw the halfling cease his shivering. Dwalin, who had witnessed the animal's display of character alongside Thorin, remarked, "Looks as if you can keep your cloak after all."

"Indeed."

"You don't trust the wizard's pet?"

"I trust this company of dwarves and that is it."

Dwalin's massive shoulders rose and fell as he rolled them in agreement. "I can't fault you for that –"

Thorin cast a look at his friend as if to say he had not yet finished with what he had to say and Dwalin respectfully closed his mouth. "If Gandalf says the wolf can be trusted, I will believe him until I find evidence to prove otherwise. She is no warg, one can tell as much by looking at her."

"I don't believe she'll do us any harm, Thorin. Especially if she keeps an eye on the lad." A meaty thumb was issued in the direction of Kili, who slept peacefully near his brother.

Thorin bit back a frustrated groan at the mention of his nephew, the sort of sound he had heard his own father make time and again during his youth. Thorin would concede to give the wolf that much credit, at least; if she could keep a careful eye on Kili, Thorin thought he may just consider making her the first ever Crown Pet the line of Durin had ever seen.

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It was a high pitched squeak of distress that woke everyone the next morning. Kili was the first to sit up, having already lingered on the edge of waking for some time. Mumbled words of annoyance went up around camp as everyone searched with bleary eyes for the source of the offending noise.

Kili was not at all surprised to see that it was Bilbo who had made the sound, and it was _Bilbo_ who was now sitting with his feet and knees drawn into his chest, making the already small hobbit seem impossibly smaller. Rubbing a dirty hand across his lids, Kili called out to Bilbo. "Somethin' wrong, Mr. Baggins?"

It was a rhetorical question, whether the halfling knew it or not. Kili had already noticed what had the hobbit in such a fearful state. Around him lay curled the wolf, her head still tucked sleepily between her paws as her sides rose and fell in the throes of sleep.

"I – I'm fine," Bilbo stammered. "She just gave me a fright, that's all."

Kili grinned at the halfling's words and debated briefly with himself whether or not to admit that he had felt the same only twenty-four hours ago when he had first awoken to find the wolf at his feet. He quickly decided against mentioning it. It would be more amusing for him and the others if they were able to watch Mr. Baggins squirm.

Nearby, Kili heard old Bombur call grumpily, "Not all of us had the luxury of fur blankets last night, master hobbit."

Bilbo pierced the round dwarf with a glare, one which quickly faded amidst reddening cheeks. Kili supposed the hobbit had thought better about angering the dwarf in charge of his meals. Finding it within himself to take pity on his smallest companion, Kili whistled and, in doing so, brought the wolf completely out of her slumber. Her head lifted up, ears twitching at the early morning ruckus caused by thirteen sleep-deprived dwarves. Instinctually, her eyes flitted to Kili, who grinned and whistled once more. He had hoped she would respond to his call and she just that, prying her body from the ground with a shake, and hurrying over to Kili's side.

"Bothering our hobbit this early, are you?" he asked, patting her head. The wolf glanced back to Bilbo, who was looking considerably more comfortable in her absence.

As expected, the young dwarf only had a few more moments of peace before he heard his uncle's voice called out over the others.

"Kili! Fili! Get the ponies saddled."

Fili sat up from his pallet and ran a hand through his hair to clear it from his eyes. "Ponies?" he asked drowsily, biting off a yawn.

"Ponies," Kili confirmed with a self-pitying nod.

Both brothers stood, stretching with identical, well-practiced motions before trudging off toward the ponies. Naturally, the wolf followed the two young dwarves, the ones who would tolerate her presence the most. They had not gone far when Kili heard his brother curse and grunt uncomfortably. Fili's hand lashed out to swat away the long nose that had inserted itself intrusively into his coat pocket.

His light eyes narrowed on his brother's darker ones in a way that Kili recognized as not being entirely unamused. The elder brother muttered, "Tell your dog to stay away from my pockets, Kili."

Kili gave him a broad grin. "Why? What's in your pockets, brother?"

"Nothing!"

"Her nose says otherwise."

Fili frowned and stuck his hand into the depths of the pocket in question, a place where Kili himself would never dare to venture. A few moments later, he withdrew his hand, his fingers covered in crispy, brown crumbs.

"Just a bit of dried biscuit," Fili observed with a frown.

Stopping her assault on Fili's pocket, the wolf's nose wrinkled at the new information, showing her disappointment as clearly as any human could. Her interest gone, she darted away, leaving the two brothers to their chores. Kili and Fili set to loosening the ponies' reins from the stakes that had held them overnight.

"Let 'em wander a bit," Fili suggested, "They won't go far."

The ponies were tame enough and Kili knew his brother's judgment to be sound so he freed them to graze while the saddles were prepared. As luck would have it, it was then that misfortune struck.

Fili heard the growls before his brother did, his fair head turning to search for the wolf. He spotted her atop the nearest hill, her lips drawn back over her long canines and her body rigid as stone. Her hackles went up and her snarling grew louder until even Kili's attention was drawn away from his task.

Fili asked, "What's she on about?"

Kili frowned, his handsome features tugging downward amidst a wash of dark hair. "Go have a look."

Nodding, Fili went off, following the wolf's path up the hill. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes against the bright morning sun. In the distance, a pack of dark shapes swept across the golden foothills. Whatever the cause, the pack was moving too quickly to be deer or any other sort of simple plains-dwelling creature.

When the first howl broke through the air, Fili knew at once what the sight before him truly was. Fear, cold and bitter, fell over him, weighing down his bones until he had to grit his teeth against it. He forced the feeling away into the depths of his belly where it would not hinder him and, whirling about, he called out to the others, "Warg riders!"

Heads came up all across camp as alarm spread at his announcement and a moment later the dawdling dwarves sprung into action. Thorin ordered that the ponies be forgotten and barked out to Kili, "Send them away! Have them lead the wargs away from us!"

Kili did as he was ordered, his hand coming down hard on the rumps of several ponies until they were all galloping away from camp.

"Grab what you can, leave the rest! We need to move!" Thorin rushed from dwarf to dwarf, aiding them when he could and growling orders when he felt they were moving too slow.

Gandalf, with Bilbo clinging close to his side, strode over to the dwarf prince, his normally amiable features set into a hard line. "You must follow me if you wish to escape the wargs. We cannot linger out on these open hills for long lest the wargs run us down," the wizard told him.

Spinning to face the old man, Thorin growled, "Follow you where?"

To the dwarf prince's question, Gandalf said nothing. Despite his reservations, the graveness that showed from the Grey Wizard's blue eyes was all the motivation Thorin needed at that moment. Knowing he had little choice, he ordered the others to run.

Fili came sliding back down the hill and had no sooner made it to his feet when Kili reached out to pull him away towards the other dwarves.

"It'll be alright, little brother," Fili reassured the other breathlessly.

Smiling despite the eminent danger, his body humming with adrenaline, Kili fired back, "Of course it will!"

From behind them, in a voice already lisping from lack of air, Balin called, "Now's not the time, laddies. Ye' ought to be worried about running a bit faster."

All around him, Kili watched as the rest of the company followed behind Thorin and Gandalf. Concern, tainted and twisted with momentary panic, filled him as it suddenly occurred to him to search for the halfling. With a sigh of relief, he saw Bilbo running alongside Bofur, the dwarf's hand wrapped protectively around Bilbo's collar as he half-dragged, half-carried the hobbit along.

After a quick headcount, Kili noted that there was only one who missing – the wolf.

Glancing around, Kili spied a flash of light colored fur as it disappeared over the top of a distant hill, headed _in_ the direction of the warg riders.

"Gandalf," Kili shouted over the thunderous sound of thudding feet, "the wolf!"

The Grey Wizard did not slow his pace as he called back, "She will do what she must, master dwarf, to buy us what time she can."

The idea settled in Kili's mind and he immediately rejected it. She would be torn to pieces, he was not so naïve to hope differently, and he knew without doubt that he would be wishing in vain for her to outrun a pack of Gundabad wargs. It was a sinking, pathetic feeling unfamiliar to him that he felt then, one fraught with the realization that the beast who had saved his life would be so easily lost to him.

He thought to whisper his apologies to the wolf aloud but his quickening breath prevented him from doing so. Up ahead, he heard Gandalf shout out directions and the company of dwarves pulled a sharp left, urging Kili along with them.

"Behind these rocks!" Thorin hissed loudly as the dwarves all came sliding to a halt, each of them clambering for space. Some distance ahead, Gandalf vanished behind another cropping of rocks but before Kili could puzzle over where the wizard was going, he heard the slathering growl of a warg that could not have been more than twenty yards away. A firm grip on his arm drew his attention to Thorin. Their eyes met and Kili soon understood what his uncle was asking of him. Nodding his head, Kili slipped one hand behind his back and drew his bow. He notched an arrow, his expert fingers never faltering despite the lessening distance between him and the warg that would soon be upon the company.

Kili had killed orcs and goblins in his travels, though even those skirmishes were rare. Most of his training had come under his uncle's tutelage, safe within the walled cities of Men. But wargs? It dawned on the dwarf that he knew nothing about killing wargs.

_Its throat?_ he wandered. _Between_ _its eyes? The chest, maybe? Or should I shoot its rider first? _ Kili's mind spun, his fingers twitching with his growing uncertainty.

_Click – scrape – click, _the sound of the monstrous beast's claws against stone sounded like war drums to Kili's ears. It would be on them soon. He was out of time.

With one last deep breath, Kili stepped out from the rock and found the warg within his sights. The split second hum of an arrow rocketing from the bowstring was the only thing that caused Kili to realize that he had released the shot. _Too soon_.

His heart sank sickeningly into his stomach at the recognition of his failure that came when the warg crashed down at his feet. It was down, yes, but it was not dead. With a wounded bellow, the warg and its rider sounded out the dwarves' attack, the call ripping away with it the hiding spot that otherwise might have given them a fighting chance.

Kili notched another arrow, his eyes shining with previously unfelt hatred for the beast. The rest of his companions had only just lifted their weapons to silence the two enemies when, in a blur of pale fur, a third figure leapt from the rock above. There was silence soon after as the wolf's jaws locked around the orc's throat and, with one mighty tear, she pulled the foul creature's jugular free in a spray of blackened blood and gore.

A snarling bark of warning erupted from the wolf's throat as she looked upon the staring dwarves.

_Go! _she seemed to plead. _Run!_

The growl was the last sound Kili heard her make before Fili's hand closed around his wrist and dragged him forward. Ahead of them, Gandalf was shouting and waving them towards an invisible goal and behind them echoed the violent growls of the wolf as she chewed and tore away at the warg.

Thorin reached the rock just ahead of Bofur and Bilbo, tossing them both into the passage that Gandalf had discovered. They both slid down with dual cries and were shortly followed by more of the dwarves.

_Bilbo, Bofur, Bombur, Balin._

Kili stopped running. The company was being surrounded. The others wouldn't make it, he realized.

_Dori, Dwalin, Nori._

He pulled his bowstring tight and fired. An orc slid from its mount with a shriek and Kili smiled.

_Ori, Fili, Bifur._

Again, Kili fired and another orc slumped to the ground.

_Gloin and Oin._

Two more arrows were set free and Kili heard Thorin's commanding shout – its urgency driven by the desperation in the dwarf prince's voice.

"Kili! Run!" Thorin called, his baritone breaking and boding no refusal. "They have archers, boy, _run_!"

Kili heeded his uncle's warning too late. He saw the archers too late. Not a mere thirty feet from him – an easy shot – an orc had appeared and in its mottled, grey hand was a bow, the string drawn taunt.

_This is it_, Kili thought solemnly. He had survived the Bruinen for naught. He would die here. But he would not die without taking one more of the ugly bastards with him. He fired his last arrow into the matted, brown chest of the orc archer's warg. With a grim smile – one he claimed by right as part of the great line of Durin – Kili watched the massive creature sink to its knees. He did not blink, did not flinch, when he saw the orc's hand fall to the side as its arrow was loosed. He heard Thorin's outraged cry of stern denial and waited for the pain.

But it never came.

There was a disgusting _thump_ of an arrow sinking into muscle, followed by the pained yelp of a creature Kili had not seen approach. Something heavy and tawny-furred and horribly _still _landed at his feet. It was the wolf; Kili recognized the creature's form with a mix of horror and disbelief that nearly sent him reeling.

Scrambling to grab her wounded form into his arms, Kili just had enough time to lift her from the bloodied patch of ground before Thorin was at his side, hauling him to the mouth of the passage. Down the dwarves slid. Kili soon came to a stop, the wolf unmoving within his arms. A flurry of incoherent cries of relief went up from the others but they all too quickly fell silent at the sight of the creature they had previously called "beast."

Lying across Kili's lap, the wolf made a pitiful sound as her head rose weakly to eye the shaft that was buried to its fletching behind her shoulder. Blood, bright and pungent, seeped from the wound to coat her fair fur, spilling over it like red wine on a fine rug. Her breathing was labored. She would not last the next minute.

"The beast saved your life," Fili gasped as he watched his brother grip the wolf tightly.

"No," Thorin's voice cut loudly above the younger dwarf's, "Not a beast."

Kili could not muster the courage to look at either of his relatives. A dull ache resounded in his chest as he watched the wolf in her struggle to breathe. He had only been in the company of this animal for little over a day and twice she had saved him. He did not claim to understand sacrifice, he was no warrior, not yet, not truly. But he had heard the tales of old, the ones passed down from generations that spoke of great dwarven heroes giving themselves for the greater good, the one for the many. Part of Kili, the side of him that lived in the shadow of his uncle, had always clung reverently to this very idea. He had been ready to become an exemplar of it, however foolish it might have seemed. Mere moments ago, he had accepted his death; he had accepted that the others would go one without him. But then the wolf had taken his place; beast or not, she had thrown herself on the arrow meant for him just like any of the great dwarves of old…an animal had done this.

And it shamed him.

Turning his eyes to Gandalf, he pleaded, "Save her!"

The Grey Wizard's face was clouded with something unreadable as his sorrowful eyes focused on the unmoving wolf.

"She is an animal, lad," Balin coaxed gently, "Let her go."

Kili wavered. An animal. Just an animal. _No_, he thought bitterly. He was part of Durin's Folk, he did not leave debts unpaid. He would save the animal if he could.

Finally, Gandalf laid aside his staff and unwound the tattered silver scar he wore from around his neck. As the wizard knelt down, Thorin joined his nephew's side. He outstretched his hand, his fingers closing around the protruding shaft, and he snapped it, eliciting a quiet whine from the wolf as she jerked in Kili's arms. Together the two dwarves lifted the wolf so that Gandalf could wrap the scarf around her middle. The Grey Wizard muttered words of magic all the while, his thin lips moving in patterns strange and foreign to the onlookers. When he had tied the knot, he stood once more, his hand lingering on the wolf for a brief moment.

"That," the wizard said gravely as he drew his hand away, "is the best I can do."

"We need to keep moving lest the wargs find us trapped like rats within this tunnel." Thorin looked to Gandalf. "Where does this passage lead?"

"You will see when we get there," Gandalf replied sharply. "Come, we must not tarry."

Before Kili could protest, his uncle brushed him aside and slid his blue-clad arms beneath the wolf's limp body.

Seeing Kili's troubled face, Thorin said firmly, "I will carry her."

They traveled for what felt to their tired legs to be leagues, all the while forced single-file between the narrow walls of the passage. The rock face seemed to constrict around them, growing ever tighter as it bored down on them. This was not the splendid halls of Erebor, or even the once great mining tunnels of Moria; it was foreign stone, untouched by dwarven hands and unwelcoming to the tired travelers. For the first time since the journey had begun, the dwarves found themselves envying the little hobbit. But even Bilbo grew uneasy as urgency nipped at his heels to speed him along each time he glanced back at Thorin and the wolf.

Thorin bore the weight admirably. His features were grim, his dark brows narrowed over pursed lips. Several times, Gloin and Dwalin, arguably the strongest of the thirteen, offered to carry the wolf but each time Thorin rejected them in the same fashion, with a single, grimly voiced "no." One look at him was enough to confirm what a few of the dwarves feared – the wolf's breathing was becoming frighteningly shallow. Thorin knew before the others did that they would lose the creature soon.

Kili trudged behind his uncle, his youthful eyes harrowed from fretfulness. _Don't pass into the halls of Mahal just yet, my friend,_ he willed the wolf silently, _not yet_. As if by some miracle granted by the Valar above, the passage appeared to open just ahead, with light peering around the bend. Bilbo gave voice to this observation and his excited cry prompted the dwarves to quicken their pace. Moments later, they reached the tunnel's end and before their weary eyes stretched the valley of the Last Homely House.

Rivendell, home of the Lord Elrond and his folk, stood out against the slopes of the valley, its fine elvish craftsmanship gleaming in golden glory. It was more beautiful than anything Kili had ever seen in his life, for his eyes had never graced the halls of Erebor, the only dwarven hold which might have equaled the splendor set before him. Shouts went up from the older dwarves, the ones who held the deepest grudges against the elves, and many of them turned to face Gandalf, who met their furious gazes without pause.

Thorin, his arms sagging from the knowledge of what lay just ahead, narrowed his eyes on the wizard, his gaze more potent and sharp that any had ever seen it. "Rivendell?" he snarled. "You brought us here? Knowing what burden we carry? The elves will seek to stop us, Gandalf. And you knew this!"

The Grey Wizard would abide none of Thorin's crossness. "Then give the wolf over to me, Thorin Oakenshield, and be on your way."

Thorin hesitated, his grip tightening against the creature in his arms.

"I thought not," Gandalf said lowly. "Lord Elrond can help you. He is one of the few in all of Middle Earth that can read the map you carry."

"I do not require the aid of the elves!"

Kili could watch the exchange no longer, knowing that with each word more of the wolf's life ebbed away. Stepping forward, he bent his head next to Thorin's, not nearly foolish enough to undermine his guardian aloud for all to hear.

"Uncle," he pleaded quietly, "Set aside your hatred for the day, at least. Let the elves do what they can for the wolf."

He was positive he actually _heard_ his uncle's teeth grit as Thorin turned his harsh gaze on him. It was all Kili could do not to balk under its heat, to stand his ground like Balin or Dwalin would have done. Without one more word, Thorin turned on his heel and started down the path toward the elven refuge below. Murmurs of unease went up among the dwarves as they followed after him and Kili took the opportunity to fall to the back. He did not miss Gandalf's approving gaze as he went, though he did able his best to ignore it.

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**Yes, I know I promised you Rivendell and human/dwarf fluff but if I hadn't cut the chapter here then it would have been 16,000 words long (no kidding). But the good news is that the next part is already written and I have a LOVELY surprise for all of you. A special cameo :) **

**The next part is my favorite so far and I promise, promise, _promise_ to have it uploaded by tomorrow afternoon. **

**Let me know what you think :)**

**~Fresh**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7, folks!**

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Being trapped in an elven stronghold did not sit well with Thorin Oakenshield. He was unsettled despite the generosity of his hosts and the safety which was feigned while his dwarves walked Rivendell's pathways. The first night of their stay, Thorin had declined the offer of rooms and soft beds. Even the food that was offered garnered suspicion and Thorin requested it be served in their makeshift camp, away from the curious gazes of most of the elves.

Part of Thorin wished that the wolf had not been wounded (though he would not deny that he would have even seen her killed if it would have spared his nephew, had it come to that). That aside, if she still remained with his company, he thought perhaps she would have proven to be a suitable guard to deter any of the prancing light-foots that thought to enter the small area he had claimed for his people. But she had been swept away moments after they had crossed the bridge into Rivendell and they had heard not one word about her for hours.

"You're sure you won't eat, Thorin?" The dwarf prince shook off his brooding mood long enough to see Bombur standing above him, waving a plate at him that was loaded to the edges with food.

Thorin shook his head, black hair splaying over his shoulders. "My thanks, Bombur, but no."

"Bring it over here, then! I'll eat enough for the both of us!" It was Dwalin who called out. Though his friend had put up a valiant effort at turning his nose up at the elvish cuisine, Dwalin's stomach had eventually got the best of him. Even Bilbo had put away more food than Thorin would have thought possible given his small size. It had done the prince good to see his fellows with full bellies and he would not deny them that regardless of where the food came from.

Beside Thorin sat Fili. The blonde dwarf's eyes were leveled on his younger brother, who sat across the balcony from the rest of them, his hands whittling away a small block of wood while Bofur regaled him with a joke or two.

"Perhaps if you had allowed us to have a pet when were children, he wouldn't have gotten so attached to that dog." Fili spoke with a smile, one that bore a strong familial resemblance to the older dwarf at his side.

"Perhaps," Thorin acknowledged. "But dogs and the like die too soon for our kind; then the children have to face the burden of saying goodbye. I did not wish that on you."

"No, neither did mother."

"I highly doubt Dis would have trusted either of you with anything living for fear that might suffer at your hands. Besides, she already had too ravenous beasts to feed as it was without the added stress a pet would have caused."

"Ravenous beasts?" Fili gaped in mock offence. "You ate enough for my brother and I both!"

The memory of sitting at his sister's table almost brought a smile to Thorin's haggard face. He said, "It's the Durin appetite. Comes with our stout hearts and strong backs."

"And our dashing good-looks, too," Fili added with a grin, "Though poor Kili missed the mark on that one."

From across the balcony, Kili interrupted Bofur long enough to call, "I heard that!"

The young dwarf's outburst was the last push the future king needed to finally coax a small smile to his face.

.

* * *

.

Orla awoke to a world filled with more color than she was used to. No longer were her eyes hindered by the partial colorblindness of her wolf form; the world seemed to erupt in shades of gold and gleaming silver. On the bed - though it took her a long moment to come to her senses enough to realize the feel of a mattress beneath her body – something unknown bounced atop the sheets, causing them to gather and bunch and slide off her until the slightly chilled air brushed her skin.

Raising herself from her pillow, Orla sat up…and found the familiar face of a child awaiting her attention with a cheerful smile.

"You're awake!" the youngling chirped with the telltale lisp of childhood.

It took Orla only a moment to place the soot colored hair that fell in loose ringlets around the boy's face and the bright grey eyes that flashed with energy. An easy smile broke over her lips and the boy grinned back.

"Estel," she called his name softly, her voice ragged from disuse.

It had been nearly three years since she had seen the child and she figured that his tenth summer would soon be upon him.

"Mithrandir said you were here. I almost didn't believe him, with everyone being so secretive about it. But I should have known."

He prattled on and Orla listened attentively, though she took the time to discreetly examine her wounds. Her shoulder ached and when she lifted the bandages to look at the injury, she frowned at the jagged white scar tissue that lay hidden. Regardless, she was whole and no doubt it was thanks to Lord Elrond, whose home she had recognized as soon as her eyes had fallen on the Elf Lord's ward. It had been a long while since her travels had last brought her to Rivendell and it was no secret that she had ached to see the valley of the Last Homely House again.

But now that she had found herself in the home of the elves, it meant that her journey was over. The realization both unsettled and relieved her. If there was anything her confrontation with the wargs had taught her, it was that she did not possess the stones for Thorin Oakenshield's quest. Never before had she been so grievously wounded; she lived a life a peace, free of any injuries other than the nicks and scrapes that came with traversing the wilds. Still, as she lay in bed in the company of her favorite child companion, she could not help but be proud of her actions. She would not have seen the young dwarf hurt for anything in the world, not when she could have prevented it. He and the others were hardly true friends of hers – friends of the wolf, perhaps, but not _her_ – and yet she had bound herself to them with her promise to Gandalf, and that was something she would not break, no matter the cost. They were good people, easy to smile and free with their mirth when the mood struck them, and that was enough to inspire loyalty from the likes of Orla.

"Are you even listening to me, _draug'adaneth_?" Estel's fair brow wrinkled as his lips shifted into a pout.

Orla nodded her head vigorously, smiling at the child and reaching out to place her hand atop his.

"I was telling you about the dwarves. Thirteen of them! I've never seen so many. And their beards, all different colors of red and brown and white." The boy scratched at his little dimpled chin as if to make certain that he had not begun to sprout whiskers of his own.

The young woman chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze. His eyes lit up and he leaned forward on the bed, elbows pressing down into the mattress. "Would you like to see them? I'll show them to you but we'll have to be quiet. _Ada_ doesn't want me bothering them. I'm not even supposed to be in here with you." He gave her a wide smile, one that Orla desperately hoped would never fade with age.

However earnest the boy's desire to show her the dwarves was, she was not comfortable risking the trouble that might come to the both of them should they defy Elrond's wishes. Being a guest in his house, not to mention owing her life to him, Orla did not wish to offend him.

Instead, in an effort to distract the child – a task easier said than done when it came to Estel – she placed her hand on her stomach and patted the growling region. She looked to the child, her eyes every bit as wide as his. _I'm hungry_, she thought as she gave him a hopelessly desperate look that would have been comical to him if he had not been but a boy.

Estel folded his arms across his chest and sat back with a stubborn snort. "Hungry? I'll not let you leave until you say it out loud."

Orla frowned and sat back against the headboard of the bed, preparing to meet the child's mule-headed ways with her own. She would give it as good as she got.

"_Al,_" the child grunted. _No._

She narrowed her eyes on his; they were a similar shade to her own, perhaps a bit more clear than hers, shining brightly with the beauty of his distant mixed heritage.

He repeated his refusal to move and in response, Orla's stomach churned louder. Estel found this sound amusing and his lips quirked crookedly as the noise continued.

Relenting, Orla whispered in defeat, "I am hungry, Estel."

"In elvish, _draug'adaneth_."

_Blasted child! _Orla bit her lip and did her best to recall what scant bit of Sindarin she knew.

"_Aes_," she said. _Food_.

Satisfied, Estel's smile lingered as he pushed himself off the bed, hopping down to the floor with agility that Orla could not quite muster at the moment.

"I'll wait for you outside. Your clothes are by chair over there but your coat is on the table. I went through your pockets. Thought you might have some treats."

Shooing the child from the room with a chuckle, she made a mental note for herself to work on scolding people with her eyes in wordless elvish. She dressed as quickly as her injury would allow her. She tugged on the new britches and shirt that Elrond had supplied her with and found her old, travel-worn boots nearby. They had been polished and the leather shown better than it had in years. A padded tunic rested on the back of the chair and when she took it in her hands she realized that it had been reinforced with metal too light to be regular chainmail but too sturdy to be mere cloth.

_Mithril, _she decided with a frown. _Why would Elrond _bestow_ on me such a valuable gift? _Had it not been against her grain to do so, she would have asked the Elf Lord this question herself. But, she held her tongue and brushed away any possible reasons behind the mithril-layered tunic as she shrugged it on. Her old coat came last and as she picked it up, images of Kili splashing about in the river after it sprung to her mind and she snickered. Truth be told, she was eager to meet that particular dwarf in person.

As promised, Estel was waiting on her just outside her door, his little foot tapping impatiently against the smooth marble floor.

"_Aes_?" he queried, one eye brow lifted teasingly in case Orla had changed her mind about the food.

The woman nodded her head and gestured for the boy to continue on. She would be right behind him. Estel led her through the winding paths of Rivendell, paths she had long forgotten since her last visit, which had been rather brief. He took her hand as they came to one of the many bridges that stretched over the sanctuary's bubbling streams.

With a laugh, his small hand gripped hers tighter and he called over his shoulder, "Don't fall in!"

She said nothing. Her laughter spoke for her, bubbling around her like the brook they were crossing over.

It was not much further when Estel stopped suddenly, his body blocking Orla's path unexpectedly so that she narrowly missed bumping into him.

"There they are!" he gasped with excitement. His free hand motioned at the balcony that lay ahead, its delicately protruding lip jutting out over the ledge of a waterfall. "The dwarves!"

_The dwarves, _Orla seconded. She counted all thirteen of them, able to name each and every one having never spoken a word to any of them.

"Don't you want to meet them?" Estel asked, turning to her, his hand still held within hers.

She shook her head and gave him a look that said, _Food. Now. _

The boy sighed and scuffed his bare foot against the ground. "Oh, alright!"

Most unfortunately, however, it seemed food would have to wait for the time being. A voice, one that was level and soft but stern in its command, broached the quiet scene. Estel's small hand immediately dropped from Orla's and the boy turned to face the bridge they had just crossed.

"_Ada_!" he exclaimed, his cheeks reddening the way children's do when they know they've been caught.

Orla inclined her head respectfully to the lithe elf that currently stood watching her and her hand gently pressed against her injured shoulder.

_Thank you for healing me_. The gesture spoke for her when her lowered eyes could not.

Lord Elrond spread his arms to her in greeting, a welcome that Orla had previously been too out of sorts to witness. The Elf Lord's eyes crinkled in amusement, showing his humor even when the firm set of his mouth did not. Orla knew him to be warm and as kind as summer, though she supposed that in dealing with the misadventures of his foster-son, he had to exhibit some form of parental sternness.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Orla, daughter of the Anduin, it does my heart good to see that your wounds have mended, even though, perhaps," he cast a mildly disapproving frown at Estel, "You would have benefitted from a day's bed-rest."

Orla glanced down at Estel's bowed head and then back to the fair lord. She shrugged, her right shoulder moving stiffly, and offered the elf a soft smile.

_He is only doing as children do._ Placing a hand fondly atop Estel's dark head, she let her eyes speak for her. _It's alright with me._

Though he said nothing, Orla knew that he had understood her meaning. He came forward, his long robes amplifying the natural elven grace he carried with each step. So gentle was his bearing that even Orla envied him, despite being possessed of much grace herself. She would have been content just to let her eyes linger on him, or any of the elves, for that matter, just to observe the way they moved, the way they _existed_. After spending a month following a loud, heavy-footed contingent of dwarves, being the presence of elves proved a sharp contrast and Orla's heart was gladdened by it.

The boy was the first to interrupt the casual silence that had fallen over them. He said to Elrond, "She's hungry, _ada_."

"And you thought it best to find her a meal amongst our dwarven guests?" Elrond merely shook his head, his hair falling over his shoulders like dark silk. He sighed, almost wistfully, and Orla took from the sound that perhaps Estel's innocent, if not troublesome, ways reminded him of centuries long past when his twin sons had done the same.

"Go and find Mithrandir, Estel," Elrond instructed gently, "Inform him that Orla has awoken."

Seizing his opportunity to earn his foster-father's forgiveness, Estel bounded away with hardly more than a wave to the adults who watched him go.

Shaking his head, Elrond muttered, "Much trouble, that one." Orla grinned at his words, not blind to the obvious affection the ancient elf held for the child of Men.

The topic of Estel was fleeting, however, and just as Orla knew it would, the conversation turned to her arrival in Rivendell. Elrond closed the rest of the distance between them and came to stand at her side. As small as she was in height, not many inches over five feet, the top of her head barely grazed the Elf Lord's shoulder and she was forced to crane her neck upwards to compensate for his closeness. He was looking down at her, his previously clear eyes troubled. Seeing this, Orla's own countenance clouded, her gentle features falling as if she had done something wrong.

"I did not expect to see you again when you left us last, especially not in the company of dwarves…and in the shape of a _gaur_, at that."

Immediately, Orla recoiled. She knew the word; she had learned it during her first visit when Elrond had recognized her as possessing her father's gifts. While Elrond no doubt used it because it was the closest thing his language had to express her gifts, it struck an ugly cord in Orla's heart that panged her so sharply she braved hardening her eyes against the timeless creature that had used it.

Raising his hand halfway upon seeing the woman's consternation, Elrond said, "Peace, Orla. Mithrandir has spoken to me of your bravery and I commend you for it."

Orla's eyes flashed. _Even though I brought the likes of Thorin Oakenshield into your home?_

"_That_," Elrond frowned as he read the name in the depths of Orla's eyes, "is another matter entirely. I would ask you to explain yourself but I doubt I could pry the words from your lips given the rest of the Third Age and if I could not, even those eyes of yours could not muster enough words to convince me."

Quite satisfied with Elrond's conclusion, Orla bobbed her head sharply in agreement.

In his infinite wisdom, which often seemed literally _infinite_, Elrond dismissed the topic and instead turned his attention to growing noise of the dwarves that milled about some distance away. "Ah," he declared, "it seems that they have finally accepted my invitation to join us for the midday meal. I shall extend it to you, of course, if you wish."

He did not have to see the vigorous nod Orla gave him to know that she intended to take him up on the offer. Chuckling, Elrond extended his arm to the human woman and she took it appreciatively, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. As they walked along, Elrond asked, "Have you ever had the pleasure of dining with dwarves?"

Orla shook her head and tilted her eyes at him. _Not in person, per se._

The Elf-Lord's grin spread and he told her with a laugh, "Then I believe that you shall find this quite an interesting experience."

.

* * *

.

Kili had never dined with elves before and from the look of all the leafy greens on the table, the idea was becoming all the more dubious by the minute. Fili shared his sentiment and grumbled vocally at the lack of real sustenance. Kili wanted meat, whether it was poultry, beef, venison, or pork. It didn't make a difference.

"Maybe it's a first course, do you think?" he asked Fili hopefully.

Fili glowered at the set table before him. "It better be."

A hand swatted Kili on the arm and he turned to see Bifur pointing at one vegetable in particular. The grizzled dwarf garbled something unintelligible but Kili got the gist of it.

"Lettuce, I think," he answered with a shrug.

Bifur made a face, his features smashing together in distaste. He muttered something else and Kili figured it was a minor blessing that he was not able to understand it.

"Actually, it be collards, I believe." Kili slowly tilted his head to stare at Bombur, who had corrected him,.

"And how would you know?"

"I _like_ vegetables."

Kili grunted. "I don't believe you."

They all took their seats, careful to avoid the elves that traipsed daintily around the table. Thorin was directed to sit near the head, where the Elf Lord would surely join him in all his vain gloriousness. For once, Kili did not envy his uncle. He was happy to be stuck between Fili and Dori, who at least kept their elbows off the table, which meant there would be more room for his own.

"Have you by chance heard anything about that wolf of yours, Kili?" Dori asked with his usual chipper politeness.

Truthfully, Kili had tried not to think of the wolf at all. He had busied himself as much as he could, which was easier said than done in the Last Homely House, it seemed. He could not hold back the deep set frown that creased his face at hearing Dori's question. "No," Kili replied bluntly, "I haven't."

"That's too bad. Beautiful beast, she was."

"Wolf," Kili corrected.

Dori acknowledged his misstep. "Aye, a wolf. Not a beast."

Suddenly, there was a tugging at Kili's elbow and he twisted around to look at his brother. "What?"

Fili was the picture of typical picture of innocence as he shrugged. "What do you mean 'what?'"

"You nudged my elbow! What do you want?"

"I did not!"

The younger brother had opened his mouth to argue when he felt a similar tug at his elbow once more. Fili's hands still remained on the table, each sneaky finger accounted for. So, Kili turned and was surprised with what he saw standing behind him. It was a boy, not an elf, he noted with some relief, but a child of Men. During his time growing up in the villages of Men, he and Fili had played with children like the one who now had his attention; he had even called some of them friends until they had outgrown him, their age and maturity surpassing his own due to his dwarven heritage.

This one possessed a peculiar spark in his grey eyes that Kili recognized. It was familiar to him, for he and Fili and the other Men-children had shared it, and he found he could still easily relate to it.

Quirking one brow and grinning, Kili asked, "Looking for something, little Man?"

The child did not budge under Kili's attention. "You're supposed to have an axe. Dwarves carry axes, you know."

Kili's smile grew and he replied, "Indeed we do!" By this time, Fili had taken notice of the child and he, too, was watching the boy with an entertained gleam in his eyes that could hardly be disguised.

"Where's yours, then?" the child inquired regarding the missing weapon.

"Well, I didn't bring it to dinner of course!"

"Why not? You could cut meat with it."

"Now, there's an idea," Fili spouted with a dramatic snap of his fingers. He shifted on his seat and leaned down toward the boy in mock wonderment. "How can you stand it among all these elves? Surely, their wit must be lacking compared to yours."

The boy expelled a breath and folded his arms over his puffed out chest. "Mister dwarf, I ask myself that question a lot."

At the child's response, both brothers set to cackling with glee, slapping their knees and tossing their heads back, and it seemed that adoption was in the foreseeable future. At least it appeared that way until the boy's attention was drawn elsewhere. The child turned away from them and his sharp young eyes quickly landed on three figures that were approaching the patio. Lord Elrond was coming up the way, arm in arm with Orla, and beside them had appeared Gandalf, whose dingy grey robes had been especially cleaned for the gathering.

The boy had been momentarily forgotten in Kili's mind until he felt the child's pull at his shirt sleeve. He gifted the boy with his attention once more and was surprised to see the child's arm outstretched, a finger pointed toward the three people coming his way.

"Do you see her?" the boy whispered.

Indeed, Kili did see _her_. Where she had been all his life and why he had never met her before, Kili didn't know, but he would more than happily make her acquaintance now.

He only half heard the boy's voice as he spoke again. "I'm going to marry her when I'm a man, just you wait."

His eyes were still trained on the little human, who possessed a fair enough face that it successfully sent his male mind to wondering, turning gears that hadn't been turned in quite a while. Some might not have found her beautiful, some might not even have found her pretty, but she looked like the sort that was easy to make laugh and easier to make smile. He had heard from some dwarves that they did not mind tall women and the fact that those women usually lacked beards more than made up for any difficulties presented from height differences. Forgetting himself for a moment, Kili bent low to the boy's ear and in a whisper, asked, "What's her name?"

"Orla, but that's not what I call her."

"What do you call her?"

The boy smiled and said, "_Draug'adaneth_. It means –"

But soon, the boy's translation was drowned out by Gandalf's as he called the dwarves' attention to Lord Elrond. Kili watched as the woman called Orla slipped from the elf's side and moved to stand near the railing of the patio, her back turned to the table of dwarves. Disinterested in the arrival of the Elf Lord, Kili elbowed his brother and nodded discretely to the woman that waited nearby.

Fili glanced at him. "What?"

"I'll bet you all the gold in my pocket that by tonight –"

"No!" Fili hissed, "Don't even go there, brother."

"Why not?"

"Because, I'm betting you all the gold _and_ silver in my pockets that I'll be –"

"You wouldn't," Kili seethed.

Fili, having successfully unsettled his younger brother, gave a triumphant smirk. "No, I wouldn't. And neither will you."

"You don't know what I was going to say!" Kili protested, looking convincingly abashed.

"What? By tonight you'll…tuck a flower into her hair? Sing her a song? Tickler her…toes?"

Kili socked his brother right in the thigh, disguising the action as best he could between their bodies. Fili stifled a grunt of pain while Kili, having noticed the dangerous glares coming from the far end of the table, pretended to mind his own business.

They had only just filled their plates when Gandalf slipped away from his end of the table and went over to Orla, who had remained near the railing even as the child from earlier had gone to join her. The wizard placed a gentle hand on Orla's shoulder and whispered something to her so that she turned around to face the group of dwarves. He led her over and cleared his throat to call them to attention. While most of them quieted, few of them ceased shoveling food into their mouths long enough to pay the wizard and the woman much mind.

"Orla, may I introduce you the esteemed company of Thorin Oakenshield…once again."

Across the width of the table, Thorin's dark gaze looked up from his plate to acknowledge the woman for the first time. He showed little interest in her, looking over her once as a man would look at a suspicious bowl of gruel (or the way poor Bifur looked at lettuce). When he finally did look away, he seemed mostly unimpressed. However, he did pay more attention to the wizard's words, having caught them.

In a growling voice, one tired of humoring both elves and wizards, he asked, "Again? I do not recall seeing this woman before."

Gandalf clasp his hands in front of him diplomatically. "Ah, well you have. But you also have _not_."

The future King under the Mountain frowned but chose to ignore the wizard's cryptic ways, having grown accustomed (though no less irritated) by them since the journey had begun. He looked to Orla and asked gruffly, "What is a woman of Men doing in Rivendell?"

Beside Thorin, Dwalin was scowling with thinly veiled distrust, his eyes considerably less gentle than his leader's. "An elf lover, no doubt," said the dwarf warrior under his breath.

If either Orla or Gandalf took offence at the dwarf's words, neither of them gave the slightest sign of it. As it was, both of them were highly fond of the elves, though neither thought it wise to tell Thorin such a thing.

"Oh, leave the lass alone, Dwalin," Balin called from nearby.

Dwalin seemed to consent to keeping any further comments to himself but his frown did not abate. Likewise, Thorin's thoughts had long since strayed from the girl and he was now being regaled against his wishes by Elrond, who had taken notice of the weapon Thorin had claimed from the troll hoard.

Balin took the opportunity to look back Orla and it was possible that he was the first to look upon her with genuine interest. "I could not help but notice, lass, that there was a boy running about here somewhere. A fine young lad, strong. Yours no doubt?"

To that, Orla _did_ take offence. She gaped at the grey headed dwarf, a hand flying to her chest in animated horror and another went down to her belly, one that did not look as if had seen the trials of childbirth. Even Gandalf looked flustered at the dwarf's assumption concerning Estel. And flustering Gandalf was often quite a difficult thing to do.

A few seats down, Balin's comment had drawn someone else's notice. Kili laughed loudly, his head thrown back in a typical sign of his merriment. Orla watched him laugh and, while she did not find it an entirely unpleasant sight, she found herself wishing that she was a wolf in that moment so that she could bite him squarely on the ass. And she would have done so, too.

"No, no," Kili teased, taking his second wind as his laughter faded. He looked to Balin, reaching across the table to grab the old dwarf's arm, and then back to Orla, his face wide with an unabashedly bold grin. Winking once at her, he said, "You've got it wrong, Balin. The boy's her betrothed. At least, he claims as much."

Hearing the words as they left the mouth of the very special dwarf who she would make it a point not to save in the future, Orla snapped her head around to glare at Estel, who had taken to playing a game with his shadow in the courtyard beyond.

Balin shook his head. "A bit young for her, isn't he? _Tsk_, the depravation of elves knows no bounds!"

At her side, Orla felt Gandalf's heavy expelled breath as it tickled against her hair. She echoed his sigh and let her head drop to her chest. Dealing with dwarves had been easier as a canine.

Giving her tender shoulder a pitying squeeze, Gandalf told her, "I'll leave you to them, Orla dear."

Whirling about to catch the old Maiar before he could waddle away in a swirl of grey cloth, Orla clinched him firmly around the arm. Vigorously, she shook her head.

_You wouldn't._

Gandalf could only chuckle as he pried her fingers from their grip. Patting her hand sympathetically, he wished her the very best of luck, along with the gravest of his condolences, before moving to leave her at the mercy of Thorin and Company.

.

* * *

.

_Draug'adaneth: roughly translated as "wolf-woman"_

_Ada: Father_

_Gaur: werewolf_

**And congrats to guest reviewer Ren for guessing the cameo! Bravo, bravo, magnifique! I applaud your knowledge of the Tolkienverse timeline. Little Aragorn is just precious, is he not? Daw :) Given the timeline, he would have been roughly around ten years old during Thorin's expedition and would have already been under Elrond's care for some time. Speaking of Elrond, I never liked how aloof he and the other elves seemed in the movies so I tried to combine that with the way they're portrayed in the books.**

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Poor Orla thinks her adventure is over…how I hate to disappoint her.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

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* * *

.

There were many attributes that came with being one of Beorn's Folk – strong hearts and bodies, bravery, quick to fight and quicker to laugh…but, to her ever growing consternation, Orla felt as if all of these characteristics had abandoned her along with Gandalf, leaving her at the mercy of a group of rowdy dwarves and elves too busy to notice her discomfort. Taking her seat among the company, Orla decided that she felt peculiarly out of place. As a wolf, she had not needed to worry about integrating herself with the stout warriors. She had simply avoided them until proving that she meant no harm, at which point most of them had continued to ignore her presence. That, however, was not the case currently.

As soon as she was seated, a flurry of questions went up around her, so quickly that she could not tell to whom each query belonged.

Someone asked, "Where are you from?"

"You a Breelander? _Hmph_."

"No, no! Her hair's not dark enough for a Breelander," another interjected, "Rohan maybe?"

"Not tall enough," someone observed.

_Eat_, Orla willed them. _Stop talking._ It did not seem likely that they would do such a thing and, as such, she deemed it wisest to take a defensive path for the remainder of the meal. She kept a constant supply of food crammed between her jaws and was content to busy herself chewing and chewing while the dwarves yammered on around her. Kili's attention had been diverted for the moment thanks to Fili, who had given Orla an apologetic glance for his brother's flirtation.

Having taken her seat on the opposite side of the table from the dwarf in charge, Orla was able to keep a discreet eye on Thorin as he conversed with Lord Elrond. It did not surprise her when Thorin's attention had inevitably strayed from the elf-lord. What did surprise her, however, was that the dwarf prince refocused his gaze on her. His eyes, sharp and assessing, leveled on her, roving over her face and clothes. Finally, the blue orbs came to rest on her stiff shoulder, the one that was currently held askew, just a tad lower than her other so that it was noticeable. She saw the interest in Thorin's eyes grow to suspicion and knew at once that the future King Under the Mountain was not so daft as to be unable to put two and two together. Silently, she hoped that Thorin would not have heard the tales of the skin changers that had long inhabited the lands west of Erebor but she seriously doubted that she would be so lucky. Still, there was a chance that, for all Thorin's perceptiveness, his mind would not immediately draw him to so strange a conclusion.

His eyes narrowed and his voice was gravelly though not impolite as he called across the table to her. "You hold yourself as if you are in pain."

Orla raised an eyebrow before reflexively rolling her shoulder, the joint aching painfully at the slow motion. She winced and, for all her bearing, could not prevent the pained expression from glancing across her face. Yes, she was in pain.

Thorin frowned. "It is deep within the muscle, I can tell as much. How does a woman come to be injured so?"

Orla could only sigh. She had no desire to test Thorin's patience with her silence. Instead, she looked to Lord Elrond, who was watching the exchange with a barely perceptible look of amusement and curiosity.

_Tell him._ Another raised eyebrow marked Orla's unspoken request_. But only a little._

To anyone less observant, the acquiescent twitch of elf-lord's lips would have been easily missed. Elrond spoke, drawing Thorin's attention once more. "It was an arrow wound. I healed her as well as my skill allowed, though against my advice she has chosen to forgo a day's bed-rest. No doubt the stress has aggravated the shoulder."

Orla dared not mistake Thorin's ensuing hum as one that might mark him as being impressed. If anything, the dwarf seemed mildly annoyed. His eyes flashed back to Orla and he asked, "Why did you not say so?"

Elrond spared the human woman once again and explained, "Rarely does Orla speak. Rarer still does she actually answer one's questions," he made no effort to hide the disapproving frown he sent her way, "One has to learn to read her thoughts in her eyes."

Thorin mulled on this for a moment, his eyes lingering on Orla's, which hardened some against his scrutiny. "I have heard," Thorin began slowly, "that the eyes do not lie. They can be trusted even when the speaker cannot."

Suddenly, he shifted forward in his seat, leaning his chest over the table so as to get a better look at the grey orbs that looked back at him. His own eyes narrowed beneath the pinch of his bushy black brows and for the first time Orla got a good, long look at the sadness that the dwarf hid so well. Her heart hurt for him in that moment and she tried not to flinch from it, for she dared not let him mistake her look for one of pity.

It seemed that he did not, as he said, "Yours are familiar to me."

"Careful," a new voice warned Orla suddenly, full of foreboding so genuine that it had surely taken great amounts of practice. "That's the look he gives someone when they've got food in their teeth."

Fighting a sigh of relief, Orla looked away from Thorin to the new speaker and found that Kili had decided to bid for her attention once more. Having spared her from Thorin's examination, Orla immediately decided that any debt Kili owed to her was paid in full. Regardless, she now had a new dwarf to contend with and she was not at all pleased for it, even if Kili was decidedly less formidable than his uncle.

Beside him, Fili swatted the younger dwarf roughly across the shoulder. "Don't be a ponce. The lady doesn't have food in her teeth."

"No, but you do," Kili snapped, rubbing his stinging arm.

It was most certainly time to leave, Orla decided. She had eaten her fill and her stomach was no longer growling obnoxiously to the tune of the birds in the trees. Politely, she inclined her head to Lord Elrond and then to Thorin, who, rather suspiciously for her tastes, went so far as to return the gesture. Fleeing the table before the two brothers or any of the other dwarves could say one more word to her, Orla left the balcony behind her.

.

* * *

.

It was quiet, blessedly so. Away from the dwarves, Orla felt the calming atmosphere of Rivendell settle on her once again. She could appreciate the lives the elves led within their valley refuge. There were no clanking hammers like those that might have been heard in dwarven cities, nor were there loud, dirty streets like those that belonged to Men, but there was an odd staleness to the air. It was hard to notice but it was there, nonetheless. Something – magic, perhaps, Orla did not claim to know – held the elven refuge suspended in time, as utterly untouched and unchanging as those who dwelled there. No harsh weather, no predators, no prey…

It made Orla's hands itch.

A few more days and she would be ready to move on, to retreat back to _her_ sanctuary. She desired to roam once more the hills and forests, the ever changing landscapes. Perhaps she would go north to Forochel to see the sea.

Either way, she and the dwarves would part ways. Their destiny lay elsewhere and hers… Orla did not believe she had one. Not a great one, at least. Truth be told, she did not want one. Her legs needed to be stretched, her eyes needed new sights, her lungs fresh air. She only needed the world, not riches or a kingdom and throne. The dwarves could have those things. She would wish them the very best. And though it would grieve her heart should she hear in the future that they had failed, she would go on. But each and every one of them she would remember.

She had not followed the twisting pathways for long when she spied a figure from the corner of her eye – an elf she had not seen before. For a moment, Orla stood unmoving, her eyes holding fast to the elf. The human found her beautiful, more so than any other elf she had ever seen, and alongside that beauty, pulsing subtly through the calm air like a tidal current, was power like Orla had never before felt. Lord Elrond, for all his wisdom, came a distant second to the elf that stood some distance away. For the briefest of moments, Orla opened her mouth to call out, so swept up in the appearance of the elf was she. Her nature caught up with her though and her jaw snapped shut before a single sound was uttered. However, she need not have bothered.

It was then that the elf turned in a swirl of fine cloth and silver-gold hair and focused her timeless gaze on the mortal who stood watching. For several long moments the two watched each other, one with awe and the other with curious passivity, if such a thing was possible.

"You are Orla."

Orla did not bother to nod in the affirmative. Judging from the gleam in the elf's eye, she already knew the statement to be true. She stretched out a long, slender hand, one that had never seen calluses or cracks, and beckoned Orla forward wordlessly.

"Your kind is not unknown to me," the elf told Orla quietly, her grey eyes shining in such a way that even Orla could not judge their intent. "You were born with a great gift but you…bear it with a heavy heart." The elf frowned, a miniscule expression that seemed foreign against her impossibly fair features. Her eyes were soft as they looked upon Orla and in their depths they bore a knowledge that nearly caused the human to balk and turn away, knowing that anything reflected within them may be taken as truth.

_And Thorin only thought his gaze was a weighty one_, Orla thought. _He has naught on this elf_.

Steadying herself from the pull of the elf woman's gaze, Orla found it within herself to shake her head. No, she did not regret her gift and never would she.

"It has cost you much, has it not?" There was no accusation in the lovely creature's voice. She tilted her head slightly, as if to show curiosity that had long been surpassed by her age. Or perhaps it was pity, Orla could not tell and her inability to do so unsettled her. Without her command, one foot slid back in retreat before Orla could regain control of herself.

She shook her head again. _No, my gift has cost me nothing_.

There had been…_circumstances_ brought on by her form but those were far in the past. Orla had not thought on them for a long, _long_ time, not since she had left her father's lands.

"You are all the braver for it," said the elf softly, more to herself as an observation than in commendation to Orla.

Her eyes roamed over Orla once more before she smiled warmly. The apples of her cheeks budded with a rosy glow against her porcelain skin and Orla could not help but feel that whatever lingering curiosity the elf may have possessed was tucked away beneath the calm control. If there had been a test, Orla had passed it.

There was a quiet shuffling behind them and Orla turned to see that Gandalf had arrived. His hands were clasped in front of him and he appeared to be watching the scene with no small amount of interest.

"It would seem, Orla, that your escape from the clutches of Thorin and Company has led you to Lady Galadriel of Lo̒rien."

_Indeed. _Orla cut her eyes at the old Maiar.

With a small but polite bow toward the Lady, Gandalf came to stand beside Orla. He placed a hand against her shoulder.

"Have you said your goodbyes?

"Goodbyes?" Galadriel marked quietly. "Do you not wish to accompany the dwarves on their quest?"

Orla shook her head. Gently, she placed her hand to her hurt shoulder and tapped it once.

Perhaps, had it not been the Lady Galadriel, the elf would have murmured in sympathy or acknowledgement of the wound but the ancient creature merely continued to study Orla. The odd gleam in her eyes had returned and a discomforting feeling like that felt by a flightless bird being cornered by a cat settled over Orla. She shifted uncomfortably before turning her eyes pleadingly to the Grey Wizard at her side.

_Help_?

But Gandalf paid her not attention. He was focused solely on the White Lady of Lo̒rien.

"What have you foreseen?" he asked.

Galadriel's silver gaze had yet to leave Orla, even as she replied to the wizard's query. "The choice to follow is hers, Mithrandir. Fate will come to pass, regardless."

Orla's brow furrowed, revealing both her uncertainty and frustration, feelings which had sharpened upon hearing the elf's words.

Quietly, though not so much as to be meek, Orla voiced a single question. "What fate?"

At this, the Lady smiled and this time there was warmth such that Orla's uneasiness slowly began to whither back into the crack it had sprung from.

"I cannot say for certain, dear daughter of the Anduin, for the knowledge of what lies ahead for Durin's Folk is not mine to know." She took a long, lithe step forward, floating more than walking, and settled in place just in front of the human woman. Orla met the ancient gaze with her own and found herself lost there, her own short lifetime of experience drowning amidst the depths she saw in those eyes.

_The choice_, Galadriel repeated_, is yours_. For a moment, Orla was certain the elf had spoken, for she heard the words so clearly it was as if they had been said aloud. But, there was more to the White Lady than met the eye, and Orla realized that the elf was in her head as surely as her own mind.

A pair of raised brows met the elf's statement. Orla frowned, lips jerking down severely as she thought. Despite appearances, despite the glossy surface of the words, she sensed something else there – a quiet urging.

But she was no fighter, no warrior dwarf or elf, no ranger. She was woman and wolf, born of the Anduin and raised of the world. She was brave and loyal but not foolhardy. For ten years since her seventeenth summer she had survived on her own by knowing precisely when and where to draw her lines. And yet something traitorous within her began to wriggle and squirm and whisper, despite her wishes, that she was not done yet.

Keen for some sort of guidance, she looked to the Grey Wizard, who told her, "It is a long road that lies ahead of Thorin and his troop. And I'll not ask you to tread it with them."

Orla cast her eyes down to the floor. She could do nothing to benefit Thorin and his dwarves. Each and every one of them was capable and loyal; their paths would not waver from his and that alone would provide strength she could not. But one walked among them that needed someone to look after him when Gandalf and the rest could not.

Orla scuffed her toe against the ground. Her expression was soft, concerned, when she looked back to Gandalf.

_The halfling? _

Her countenance spoke volumes for her as usual. "Mr. Baggins is more resourceful than anyone gives him credit for. He will persevere, however vocal he might be while going about it."

"But why the hobbit, Mithrandir?" Galadriel asked softly.

Orla nodded at this. She had wondered as much herself since the journey had started. With a small smile, one full of fondness, Gandalf gave them their answer. "Perhaps it is because I am afraid and he gives me courage."

The wizard's answer satisfied and reassured Orla. Releasing a heavy breath, Orla accepted Gandalf's words as truth. The hobbit and the dwarves _would_ go on, they _would_ persevere to the very end. But she would have no part in it. It was her choice, as Galadriel had made clear, and despite whatever thoughts the elf tried to impress on her, Orla made her own decision.

She shook her head solemnly. _I will not go_. This is what her eyes told the wizard when they found him.

The niggling in her gut grew but she forced it back down from whence it came. Her part in the story was played. Now, her life awaited her far, far away from Erebor and the Lonely Mountain. She left both the White Lady and the Grey Wizard behind her; though with her back turned from them, she did not have the good fortune to witness the knowing smiles that were shared between the two of them as they watched her go.

.

* * *

.

Rivendell nights were some of the quietest Orla had ever experienced. There were none of the typical night sounds that one would hear in the forests or plains. There was only the slow, melodic trickle of water against stone; it was a sound that Orla could not escape no matter to which corner of the elven refuge she wondered. After speaking with Gandalf and the Lady Galadriel, Orla had spent the rest of the day with one of Rivendell's foremost healers, an elf whose name she did not know but whose healing hands she was grateful for anyway. Another poultice had been applied to her shoulder and the wound rewrapped and soon the healer had sent her away with the same advice Elrond had given her.

She was told, "_Stay in bed_," but she once again ignored the advice and took it upon herself to continue her exploration of the elven city. For a long time, she lingered near the dwarves, out of sight but not out of hearing. Thorin and Balin had disappeared, being whisked away with Bilbo alongside Gandalf for what Orla suspected was a meeting with Lord Elrond. The elf would surely have questions and they would not be easily – much less _willingly_ – answered if Thorin had anything to say about it.

So it was that Orla found herself lost along the Rivendell's pathways just as the sun was beginning to set. She made no immediate effort to redirect herself toward her room and was content to enjoy the night air and the cool, breezy embrace that danced down from the clouds above.

Alone, her thoughts strayed to the Bay of Forochel in the north and the banks of Nenuial Lake, which she had not seen for several seasons. She figured that she could leave Rivendell behind her and travel westwards to Nenuial before turning up toward the chilly shores of Forochel. Perhaps, when she had seen those, she would go west toward the mountains of Ered Luin. _Yes_, she decided, _that is a sound plan_. If the dwarves were lucky and held a safe and steady path, they might reach Esgaroth and the Long Lake by the time she was able to reach Forochel. Though the Ice-bay was remote, the tribes there would hopefully bear some news of the dwarves' success, should there be any. Until then, she would simply have to wonder and wish them well.

Her future path then decided, she thought it best to retire. It was then, just as she turned to begin the winding path back to her quarters, that she heard voices carry up from a nearby bend in the trail. She recognized one of them immediately, for it was the loudest. Estel seemed to have found someone to talk to despite it being well past his bed time. A few moments later, a second voice followed in response to Estel's and Orla was surprised to place it as belonging to the youngest dwarf. He must have taken Thorin's absence as an opportunity to explore.

Quietly, Orla approached the two speakers, eager to learn of whatever mischief was almost certainly brewing between them. She did not miss Estel's repeated mention of his name for her – _draug'adaneth_.

"But was does it mean?" Kili was asking the child, his voice pitched mildly with frustration.

Estel replied bluntly, "It's my name for her!"

"I'm not looking for _her_!" Kili protested. "I'm looking for the –"

"Wolf! You already said so." Orla heard Estel clap his hands together, his own irritation bubbling over.

She heard Kili sigh loudly and suspected he had his head hung low. It was all too easy to lose a battle of wills against young Estel, though she would have expected someone like Kili to fare a bit better. She barely caught his words as he muttered, "Durin's beard, it's like dealing with Fili all over again."

"Fili? Your brother?" Estel had not missed this. "His beard is longer than yours, you know."

Orla would not have thought it possible for Kili to be rendered into a sputtering mess so easily but sputter he certainly did. "I…But – He's older!"

"Not by much it seems. Bet I'll have a beard before you do."

"That's –"

Orla thought it best she interject before one or both of the speakers brought tears to the other's eyes. She stepped around the bend and cleared her throat, her hand rising to her mouth to cover the sound.

"There you are, _draug'adaneth_!" Estel exclaimed. "The dwarf was looking for you."

Kili grumbled and snapped, "I was looking for the _wolf_." He turned to Orla. Standing, the top of his head just did reach her chin and he had to tilt his head up just slightly to look her in the eyes. "Have you seen the creature?" he asked, running a hand through his messy hair. "She was brought in when we arrived."

"With an arrow wound?" Estel mumbled, the phrase both a question and statement of fact.

"Aye."

"_Draug'adaneth_ has an arrow wound. Don't you?" Estel's small hand came up to tug at Orla's elbow and she grimaced as the action caused her shoulder to twinge painfully. There was no need to nod in response to the child's question. The rascal's gesture had already revealed as much to the watching dwarf.

"I didn't realize you were injured," Kili said, eyes flashing to Orla who waved a hand at him dismissively.

_I'm fine_.

"Orcs?"

Orla nodded once. His next question came as no surprise. "How did you get away?"

As was her way, she said nothing, crossing her arms instead with a look that all but told him to figure it out himself. Kili saw this and scratched his head awkwardly, his fingers ruffling through his dark hair roughly. "Don't say much, do you?"

"Not to you," Estel chirped, proudly folding his arms over his chest as he stuck his dimpled chin out boldly.

Kili only grinned smugly, not one to be outdone as he said, "I don't have much to say to a woman while in the presence of children. Chew on that for a time, little Man."

This sent poor Estel's cheeks to burning and his mouth opened and closed several times over before Orla's protective hand came down on top of his shoulder. Her mind was officially made up - if she ever encountered Kili while in her wolf form _ever_ again, she would bite him. No questions asked. That would be her hello to him.

Orla pinned Kili with the sharpest of her glares, one that would bode no foolish reply. It seemed, however, that the dwarf saw something within her eyes that startled him because his brows pinched into a straight line and his mouth grew firm. His eyes did not leave hers as they searched, looking at her much like one looks at a person they are trying desperately recognize.

"Your eyes are grey…" Kili murmured, frowning.

"Lots of eyes are grey," Estel snapped. The pinching squeeze Orla was giving his shoulder may or may not have prompted his interruption.

His curiosity not quite satisfied, the dwarf caught himself before saying anything else. Shaking his head, he waved his hand at the two humans. "The wolf's eyes were grey as well but seeing as how you're not on all fours and covered in fur, I suppose that's where the similarities end."

In a moment of rare good grace, Estel supplied helpfully, "The wolf will heal, _Ada_ says so."

Kili made a face and shook his head. "Ada says so? That makes me feel so much better."

_I'll bite him twice, _Orla decided. Whatever her inner thoughts, Orla schooled her features carefully. Removing her hand from Estel's shoulder, she stepped away and instead offered it to the child to take. Estel was happy to do so, smiling triumphantly at the dwarf as he twined his small fingers around Orla's palm. Having captured him, Orla looked down at the boy, one eyebrow raised in an expression that only means one thing to a child: _bedtime. _

"_Draug'adaneth_!"

_It's late. _

"Orla, please!"

"You're sure she's not your mother?" Kili quipped, looking amused by the development that had not gone in the little menace's favor.

Two sets of grey eyes flashed at him then and he quickly withdrew his statement. "Sorry, sorry. Mind if I tag along? It doesn't seem as if I'll have much luck finding my friend tonight."

Orla nodded and Estel bit his lip to hide his scowl. Together the three set off back in the direction of the dwarf camp and the rest of the sleeping quarters. It did not take Kili long to find his next question. Soon, he asked, "What does draga'neth mean, anyway?"

"_Draug'adaneth_," Estel corrected with a disinterested huff.

"Right. Well?"

Estel glanced up at the woman who walked alongside him and when he saw the faint shake of her head, he told the dwarf, "That, mister dwarf, is a secret."

"I can keep a secret."

"Orla doesn't think you can."

"Orla," Kili paused to glare pointedly at the human woman who continued to ignore him, "hasn't said a word."

Estel chirped, "You're just not paying attention to her. She says plenty." That earned him a favored pat on the back from the woman in question.

Kili only grumbled and continued to walk along in silence.

"Dwarf," Estel eventually said as they made their way up a set of stairs. "When are you leaving?"

"Why? Going to miss me?" Kili retorted with a grin.

Even Orla gave a snort at the reply and as such, Estel promptly snatched his hand from hers. Kili watched the display, his lips turned upward slightly so that he had to cover his grin with the back of his hand.

"Tomorrow or the day after. Thorin is ready to be rid of this place."

"Will it be a very long adventure?" Estel sounded almost wistful.

Orla glanced down at the dwarf near her side and met his eyes. There she saw hope and excitement, all muddled up with anxiety. Kili was not the fool some believed him to be, Orla herself had witnessed as much but he was young and the weight of what lay in store for he and his kin had not worn on him yet.

"Yes," he replied eventually, "I suspect it will be."

Orla saw it as the dwarf's eyes softened at Estel's jealous frown and she suspected he saw some sort of kindred spirit there. Likely, Kili and his brother had grown up with tales of their uncle surrounding them and now they had finally been given the chance to embark on their own quest for glory and at Thorin's side, no less. Kili slowed his walk until he fell behind Orla and drifted over to Estel's side, where he nudged the child gently with his elbow.

"A lad like you? You'll have an adventure of your own one day."

Estel sighed. "Well, I don't expect to stay in Imladris forever."

Both Orla and Kili smiled at the child's proclamation, glancing at each other as if gauge the other's reaction. "What?" Kili asked, looking at her. She only shook her head.

Eventually, they came to the staircase that led down to where Thorin had set camp.

Kili sighed and said, "I suspect I best get some rest in case Uncle orders us out by the morning. It's a long trek through the Misty Mountains, or so I hear."

Orla caught the dwarf's arm before he could turn away. _Have you not traveled the path before? _

Kili must have read the alarm on her face well enough because he seemed to gather the general meaning of her expression. "Why, is that concern, fair lady?" he asked with a lopsided grin, his eyes traveling down to look at the hand that still held fast to his elbow. Orla released him with a grumble but crossed her arms as she awaited an answer to her question.

"I've skirted the borders before but Thorin and Balin believe we'll save time if we travel the mountain paths."

Orla's brows rose until they could not be seen for the tangle of curls across her forehead. She motioned to her wounded shoulder, one side of her mouth raised in disgust at the thought of the creature that had caused the injury.

"Orcs and goblins, yes, I know." Kili's naivety was showing brightly as he added, "We'll take care of whatever decides it wants to fall on our blades."

This was coming from the dwarf she had taken an arrow for? Running a hand through her hair in frustration, Orla shook her head. Even Estel seemed weary of the idea; the child knew well of the goblins that inhabited the Misty Mountains. Orla had assumed that at the very least the dwarves would take the long way around. Surely, their journey was not so urgent as to brave the heights of the Misty Mountains.

Kili's ignorance, Orla could understand. But Thorin's? Or any of the other elders? No, they were being foolish. There were paths that were better left untraveled when it came to the Misty Mountains. It was always best to take the longer route for if one came upon trouble high atop those distant grey peaks, there would be no friendly hand to help. The only hands that would find a traveler there were mottled and wart-covered and all they were good for was throttling the innocnet in their sleep.

Orla had learned that the hard way. She had not been long departed from her father's lands and had ignored the warnings she had heard throughout her childhood about the Mountains. It had been dark and cold, the sort of coldness that seeps into the bones and does not leave for days no matter how warm the fire. She had fallen asleep in an alcove, sheltered from the storms that raged outside and unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows of the rocks. The goblins had fallen on her in swarms, masses of them sent out to capture just one lone girl (she dared not think of what they would send out for a group of thirteen dwarves). She had awoken to one creature's knife digging dangerously deep into the skin of her throat while several others had laid themselves upon her legs and arms. The only thing that had saved her was her unique ability; she had shifted, her human form changing under the goblins' slippery grips while they squealed and cursed. Only then had she bounded away, her paws carrying her across the jagged cliffs until they were bloody. It had been a small price to pay to leave the goblins behind.

The next trips she made through the mountains, she had been wiser. She had learned the paths well, braving them despite her better judgment, partially out of the desire to know the Mountains as well as she knew the woods. Though she had eventually learned the paths, she still preferred the longer route around the edges of the Misty Mountains, or through the valleys if she must.

"What's that look there?" Kili asked suddenly. "You look like you want to say something."

Orla, though, only shook her head and took a step backward. She doubted there was anything she could say that would convince Kili, not to mention his uncle, not to take those cursed paths.

"Orla?" Estel called her name quietly, having also noticed the look on her face.

With only a quick parting nod to the dwarf, Orla left him standing there as she took Estel's hand once more and retreated along the illuminated paths where he could not follow.

.

* * *

.

All through the night she worked, tracing and drawing and scribbling until she didn't think Elrond had any more maps of the Misty Mountains to spare. Certain paths, as her rough sketches illustrated, were better than others. Notes here and there told of safe alcoves and sheltered paths that would shield the dwarves from the weather and denizens of the Mountains. Eventually, her shoulder began to ache from being propped atop a writing desk all night and it was not until early morning that Orla gave it rest. She folded the finished the maps and tucked them into a leather satchel for safe keeping. She would give them to Thorin herself but first she would show them to Gandalf.

She put her cloths on once more, having tossed them aside in her hurry to get to work the night before. Boots, britches, mithril shirt, and coat all went on in flurry as Orla rushed out the door in a blur of leather and blonde curls. Her feet carried her down the stairs two at time and she hurried along until she saw the dwarf camp. Or what was left of it.

She slid to a halt, boots scuffing against the smooth floor, and her face twisted up in a horribly put off expression that most would have deemed extremely unattractive. _Dwarves_, she thought hotly, _stupid, impatient, stubborn dwarves! _

Satchel in hand, she was not yet deterred as she resumed her hurried gait again. With long, loping strides – well, perhaps Bilbo would have considered them long and loping – Orla rushed through the paths of Rivendell, getting turned around once or twice but eventually finding her way to the edge of the elven city just in time to see the very last dwarf disappear around the far corner of the paths leading into the Misty Mountains…and further away from Rivendell.

Orla groaned, her head falling back miserably as her grip loosened on the satchel full of maps she had pained all night long over.

"Orla?" A familiar voice called to her and she turned to see Elrond standing nearby with Estel at his side. Gandalf, too, was with them but his eyes were well hidden under the brim of his pointed hat. This was just as well because if they had not been, Orla would have seen the wizard's eyes twinkling as they did whenever a plan unfolded in the desired fashion.

Orla pointed at the paths leading out of Imladris, her finger jabbing out with the tell-tale early morning frustration she felt at having worked for all night for naught. She shook the satchel and then tossed it unceremoniously at Gandalf who caught it against the bulk of his grey robes.

"What are these, Orla dear?" the old Maiar asked as he tugged at the clasp on the little leather pouch. He freed the parchment from its confines and unfolded it to better study what had been written upon it. Elrond inclined his head to get a better look as well, a single eyebrow arching when he saw the detail that had been put into each map.

"Are those…the maps from my library?" the elf-lord asked suddenly, as aghast as it was possible for one such as Elrond to be. He realized that they were and turned shocked eyes on the human woman, who had wisely chosen to look elsewhere for the moment. "They are!"

Gandalf could not hold back the deep chuckle that erupted from his belly as he gently refolded the maps and tucked them safely back into the satchel. "You saw fit to do Thorin and Company one last favor, I see," he said, "Which is all well and good, if only they had not left so early."

Hands on her hips, Orla eyed the old wizard suspiciously. _This is your fault_, she glared at him accusingly. _My life is harder and it's __**your**__ fault_.

She turned her glare to Estel, who had until now, been grinning broadly at the idea of his Ada's precious maps having been defaced for the sake of a few dwarves.

_You…you rascal! You could have warned me they were leaving! _The child quickly paled when he saw that the wolf-woman's gaze had landed on him and he took a retreating step backwards to hide as best he could amidst the folds of Elrond's robes.

Looking back to Gandalf, Orla managed to collect her temper long enough to express a pressing question. _Why have you not gone with them? _

"I will rejoin them in a few days. I have business to conclude here."

_I did not get to say goodbye_. Her formally heated gaze had cooled significantly into something that was akin to disappointment.

"Well, then go say your farewells! Though, it's best if you take these maps with you. I doubt they will do Lord Elrond any further good given -"

"Given what you've done to them," Elrond glowered.

_My apologies. _

Orla winced and inclined her head to the elf respectfully, for all the good it did. She did not, however, make a move to leave.

Gandalf stroked his beard thoughtfully, tugging at the grey hairs under his chin, before saying, "If you fear the trials of the Misty Mountains, Orla, I believe you've a ways to go yet. You have time to see that Thorin receives your final gift."

The human woman wavered and glanced back over her shoulder to the paths that led away from Imladris. It would only take her half an hour to reach the dwarves if she hurried. Another half hour to get back and she could be back before lunch. After that, she would have plenty of time to prepare for her own departure.

It seemed a sound plan. Then again, all plans generally seem sound until they go wrong.

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* * *

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**Well, I'm not too happy with this chapter. I have affectionately dubbed it "Frankenstein" for the past week because it was written in bits and pieces and stuck together like some freaky science project...Blech!**

**Anyway, the next one shouldn't take so long. Classes already have me beating my head against the wall but writing makes me feel better.**

**Oh, and THANK YOU to all of you who reviewed. I know I didn't get back to the vast majority of you this time but, still, thanks for taking the time out of ya'lls day to review anyway. It means a lot.**

**~ Fresh**


	9. Chapter 9

**Beware…there be run-ons and comma splices. I apologize ahead of time for the lack of editing in this chapter. I've got one class in particular this semester that has just beat my brain all to pieces and if it wasn't for it then these updates would come a lot faster and just be…better.**

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The fact that he was well rested and well fed did not make the going easier for Bilbo on the new leg of the journey. The narrow paths they traveled were steep and to make matters worse, they had not yet crossed into the Misty Mountains. The valley of Imladris was not far behind them, however, and they would remain safe for the next day or so until Rivendell and its borders were in the distance. Despite this knowledge, Bilbo did not feel a single bit better. Hobbits were not mountain -faring folk and it went against his grain to stomp round and round over rocks and crags. He not once opened his mouth to complain, however, and whenever the mood to do so did actually strike him, he thought back to the beauty of Rivendell and the elves and, though the images left him wistful, he felt renewed once more.

The dwarves pushed on, their steps quick as they hurried away from the elven sanctuary they were eager to leave behind. Thorin ordered them along, always glancing back over his shoulder with narrowed eyes and heavy brows as if he expected to see elven guards riding up behind them to round them up again and march them back to Rivendell. Bilbo had been there when Thorin and Elrond had had a meeting of their mighty minds and neither seemed any friendlier towards the other for it. He wished silently that Gandalf had at least come along with them but the old wizard had stayed behind with the promise to meet up with them in a few days.

"Don't look so sad, Mr. Bilbo," one of the dwarves called over their shoulder to the hobbit. Bilbo looked up from the path and saw that it was Bofur who had spoken. This came as no great surprise, as Bofur, more than the others, kept a watchful eye over Bilbo most of the time. "You're starting to look like the young one, lagging back there with your eyes downcast and nose all red from weeping."

"I am not weeping," Bilbo snapped back, sounding more indignant than he actually felt.

From just behind him, he heard Kili call, "Nor I!"

Bilbo turned his head back around to look at the youngest dwarf and found that it was true; Kili had not been weeping, which was not a great surprise in all honesty, but he was being oddly quiet and that in itself was enough to set a hobbit like Bilbo to worrying.

He opened his mouth to inquire further about the dwarf's odd mood but Kili pointed a finger directly at Bilbo's nose, his eyes sharp with warning, and told him not to ask anything along the lines of, "Whatever is the matter," or even "Are you alright," because he had heard such questions at least twenty different times since setting out from Rivendell earlier that morning. If he should hear either of the two once more, he persisted, he would just have to sock the unfortunate person who did the asking right in the nose and seeing as how little Bilbo was, he did not particularly want to do such a thing.

Bilbo nodded his head hurriedly, though it was less out of fear of being hit and more because he knew exactly how the dwarf felt. Countless times now Bilbo had heard the exact same questions and they certainly had worn thin for him and he wasn't even a dwarf. The walk went on like this for some time with few dwarves speaking and fewer still speaking to Kili or Bilbo.

"How far to the edges of the mountains?" Gloin called after another mile of walking.

The perpetual thorn in his side, Oin, fired back before anyone could answer. "We've already crossed into the mountains, or haven't ye noticed?"

"To the edge of the elves territory! How far te' that is what I'm asking."

"Oh, well why didn't ye say so?"

For a moment, Bilbo feared that Gloin might actually shove the hearing-impaired Oin right over the cliff side but Thorin interjected in time to prevent such a tragedy. "The elves are too fearful to allow goblins anywhere near their borders. It will be a while yet. A day or so, perhaps."

The company forged on, their pace never slowing even as the path began to curve higher into the mountains ahead. Little was said but when the wind blew just right, a softly sung tune or two would be carried back from the lips of one dwarf to the ears of another. It was over one of these slow, steady melodies that Bilbo first noticed the footsteps. Well, he noted they did not seem to be footsteps really so much as the soft knocking of rocks as they were moved underfoot. It was no surprise that the others had not heard this; Bilbo had barely noticed it and his ears were sharper than those of the dwarves.

Should he call out to Thorin? Warn him? _Surely it could not be goblins_, Bilbo reasoned, _not this close to Imladris_. Thorin himself had said as much. Gandalf then, perhaps? _Not so soon._ After floundering back and forth mentally for a bit, Bilbo finally decided to turn to Kili and ask.

The hobbit whispered, "Don't make a scene, now, but I think someone is following us."

Kili quirked an eyebrow at Bilbo's undue request but quickly thought better of it and restrained any retorts that sprung to mind. Instead after thinking for a moment, he suggested, "An elf?"

"I don't believe so. Would they follow us? Did we leave something behind?" Momentarily panicked, the hobbit's small hands dove into the pockets of his waistcoat to make sure he had not forgotten his handkerchiefs. _No_, he thought as he sighed with relief, _they were still there_.

Kili ignored him as he did this and slowly the dwarf's steps began to grow shorter and slower as he allowed the distance between himself and the line of dwarves to spread.

"What are you doing?" Bilbo demanded quietly. He looked back over his shoulder, worried that the others would get too far ahead. It did not immediately occur to him that such a large group of dwarves really did not have anywhere to go other than forward.

"Wait and see, master hobbit. Now, get behind that rock there." Kili pointed to a conveniently hobbit-sized bolder jutting out onto the path.

"No!"

"Do it!"

Kili threw himself back against the rock face, pressing as close to it as he could given his pack and arrow quiver. They had only just rounded a bend in the path and Bilbo supposed the foolish young dwarf hoped to use this to his advantage and take the approaching stranger by surprise. He wondered again if perhaps he should call out to the others but after a meaningful (and mildly threatening) glance from Kili, Bilbo reluctantly ducked behind his assigned boulder.

Several long moments passed as the approaching footsteps drew nearer. Bilbo quickly ruled out Gandalf as a suspect simply because there was no way the old wizard would have maintained such a quiet pace. Similarly, he suspected goblins would have sounded more…scrabbly, even though he had never been unfortunate enough to actually hear such creatures before. The oncoming footsteps were too quiet, too precise to be anything other than an elf.

Bilbo opened his mouth to warn Kili of this, unwilling to endure the licking the dwarf would likely face if he jumped an elf but it was too late. Kili sprung just as the figure rounded the corner. He reached up to grab a fistful of collar and cloth and with a triumphant holler he hauled the stranger against the rock face. A loud growl went up, bubbling up from somewhere – surely not the person Kili had apprehended – and Bilbo cried out for fear of a nearby animal that may have been accompanying the stranger. But there was no such animal and the growling quickly subsided. Kili had noticed the sound as well it seemed because his grip had gone slack around the stranger's collar.

She – Bilbo realized the stranger was neither elf nor male – twisted out of Kili's grip just as the rest of the dwarves caught wind of the commotion and came hustling back down the path in a semi-single file cluster of armor-burdened bodies.

Kili was sputtering, his mouth opening and closing as he tried his best to reason out the woman's sudden appearance. Orla was scowling at him, her eyes cut hard as she glared down her nose at the dwarf. She waved away the slack jawed royal and moved to straighten her shirt before lifting a hand to massage her sore shoulder.

Bilbo recognized her, though he had not spoken to her during their time in Rivendell. He had seen her at the meal that Elrond had invited them to and had been curious about her ever since. During that lunch, Thorin had seemed intrigued with her for all of five minutes before she had excused herself. Bilbo had seen no more of her after that.

Speaking of Thorin, his voice was soon booming over the rest of the dwarves as he pushed his way to where Kili and Orla stood. Bilbo gave the prince plenty of room, having seen the displeased set of his features as he passed. Balin and Dwalin were right behind him, flanking him like bodyguards and watching the young woman with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion.

"What is the meaning of this?" Thorin barked. "What's going on? Kili?" He looked to his nephew and then to the woman who stood nearby him.

Orla had yet to recover from her manhandling and she refused to remain still enough for conversation despite the weighty gazes upon her. She paced back and forth within the small space between the rock face and the cliff's edge and Bilbo was suddenly struck with odd image of an animal pacing in a cage. She looked uncomfortable and more than a wee bit miffed if his eyes did not deceive him. Her brows were knitted together over pursed lips. The expression looked altogether wrong on her, he observed, seeing as how see was otherwise sweet-faced. Finally, she ceased her worried pacing, having worn a good trail between the two points she was trapped within.

She looked to Thorin and the sharpness of her gaze abated somewhat, which was wise, Bilbo thought, considering Thorin's temper. Without saying a word, one hand flitted into the inner pocket of her duster and, with more precision than Bilbo had demonstrated when searching for his handkerchiefs, Orla soon produced leather bound satchel that had been tucked away. She extended the package to Thorin, who eyed it warily before he finally accepted it.

"What's this?"

Orla said nothing and instead folded her arms defiantly over her chest. _I'm not telling you. _Her head whipped around to glare a Kili once more. _And especially not you so don't even ask._

Although Thorin deemed it best to let Orla's quirks pass unaddressed, Dwalin took exception to what he apparently decided was an unforgivably rude trespass against his future king. He put a stalling hand on Thorin's shoulder and said, "I'd not accept a thing from her." He turned a set of hard eyes against Orla and added, "Elf-lover." Though the words were not ugly outright, Bilbo still had to cringe as if he had heard a much worse curse uttered. Orla took the remark in passing, however, and rather admirably managed to ignore the hulking dwarf altogether.

Thorin's fingers stilled against the buckle of the satchel and he looked back to her. Though he could not see them at the moment, Bilbo had no doubt that the dwarf's dark blue eyes were studying her like she was some sort of potential weapon ready to spring at any moment. Finally, when she did not flinch or falter beneath his gaze, he seemed to decide she was no threat and went on to open the satchel as if he had never been interrupted in the first place. Moments later he removed from the leather bindings a handful of folded parchment. Letting the empty satchel drop to the ground, Thorin unfolded the papers as the rest of the dwarves watched on, careening their curious heads over each others' shoulders to get a better look.

"What is it?" Someone called.

Another voice, possibly Nori's, shouted, "Don't tell me that dress-wearing elf has called us back!"

"If so, he can shove that letter right up 'is –" Bilbo quickly ignored the rest of what Ori said.

Thorin called for silence as he looked over the parchment in his hands. His eyes darted across the crinkled cream-colored pages as he took in the information they bore. His eyes darted up to meet Orla's once more and she gestured at him expectantly.

With a sigh, Thorin refolded the papers and reached down for the satchel they had arrived in. "I have no use for elvish maps," he told her firmly before adding an unimpressed, decidedly diplomatic sniff and holding them out for Orla to take.

The young human snatched the satchel from him quick as a beat and freed the papers again. She unfolded them with a huff and shoved them back at Thorin, this time with a finger gesturing toward what looked like handwritten notes in the margins. Bilbo, ever curious, stepped closer and peered around Dwalin's elbow to get a better look at that which she was directing Thorin's attention. New paths had been drawn atop the existing lines and it did not take Bilbo long to figure that she had been the one to add them.

Thorin soon realized the same as he took the maps once more. "You marked these?"

Orla nodded.

"And in _what_ language?" the dwarf prince asked, bewildered. He tilted the map this way and that to look more closely at the notes Orla had written.

Orla looked affronted. Hands on her hips, she glared at him through pinched eyes.

"Westron?" Thorin guessed. Again, he received a nod. "Is it?" The prince did not look convinced as he continued to squint.

"Balin," he said, "what do you make of this?" He handed off one map to the old dwarf who looked it over for a long moment, his bulbous nose scrunched in his puzzlement.

"I imagine," Balin said with a curious murmur, "that it looks like Iglishmêk if Iglishmêk was a written language."

That earned old Balin an amused snort or two from most of the dwarves and even Bilbo, who recalled hearing of the closely guarded sign language of dwarves. Perhaps, if they had been privy to Orla's deepest secrets, they would have understood that penmanship was not a top priority for someone who spent half their time on all fours. But, unfortunately for Orla, they did not know this and as such, they were relegated to trying to decipher the script she had scribbled among the margins.

After a few more minutes spent in scholarly study, Thorin appeared to have finally grasped a basic understanding of Orla's handwriting. He suddenly looked up at the woman, letting the maps fall to his side within a loosely clenched fist. He asked her, "You came of your own accord?"

Orla gave an easy roll of her shoulders but remained unsurprisingly silent.

Balin posed the next question. For Bilbo, it was the most important one yet. "The paths you've marked, lass, are they safe routes?"

Orla held the old dwarf's eye as if to let him see the honesty held within her own. When Balin looked satisfied, Orla nodded just once for the rest of the dwarves to see.

"And how does one such as you come to know such things?" Dwalin grumbled. "You're naught but a girl."

"Aye," Fili seconded from among the group of dwarves. "I have to wonder that myself. No offense intended, my lady."

The woman only sighed and shook her head. There was something odd in her expression that Bilbo just managed to catch. He watched as her shoulders slumped marginally, just enough to reveal her frustration. Her palms were open as if to gesture that she had no further argument and it occurred to the hobbit that, despite whatever irritation she might be feeling, she must have at least suspected to run into such resistance. Thorin had noted this as well but he said nothing. He met Orla's eyes and their quiet exchange began once more. Finally, Orla came forward and for a moment Bilbo thought she meant to take the maps from Thorin. Instead, much to his surprise, she took the dwarf's hands in hers and folded them over the maps, tucking his fingers securely around the parchment.

_Take them, please_, her expression said. Thorin nodded firmly, his mouth shut tight against any further argument.

Much to Bilbo's surprise, Orla, having released Thorin's hands, came to stand before himself next. She knelt down so that she was just about eye level with the little halfling before reaching into her coat to pull out one final bit of folded parchment…one last map. Much like she had done to Thorin, she handed the parchment to him before him could object.

Adding to his surprise, along with everyone else's, Orla spoke then. Bilbo had thought her voice would be harsher from disuse but its sound was as soft as the gleam in her grey eyes.

She said, "This one is yours, Bilbo. Your journey to Erebor is a long one. I pray this may lead you safely there and back again."

And there it was. Bilbo saw _it_ right then in that moment as the last spoken syllables of her words died away. He saw her and all at once he knew her.

"It's you," he mouthed in near silence, his voice broken and low from shock.

Bur Orla only shook her head, a simple gesture to beseech him not to say a word. If she was worried about Bilbo's sudden discovery, she did not show it. One corner of her lips played upward, concealing well the smile she was doing her best to hide.

"T-thank you." Later, the hobbit would be proud of himself for managing this much. As the seconds ticked by while Orla remained in front of him, Bilbo's mind continued to reel with the realization. His thoughts stumbled and fumbled over one another as he tried to link the woman and the wolf with what logic he possessed but reason failed him, getting lost somewhere amongst the riotous storm in his brain. How was it possible? He could only wonder. Right then he wished for Gandalf as hard as he had during the troll escapade; he wanted the wizard to explain immediately and with great detail how and why such a thing was possible. But the Grey Wizard was inconveniently nowhere to be seen and poor, shell-shocked, bamboozled Bilbo was left to puzzle over Orla's great mystery on his own.

In his childhood, he had heard tales of Men able to change their form but…to have met one – no, more than that. To have traveled with one in disguise, to have the very same woman-creature curled about him to keep him warm in the night…little Bilbo found he could hardly cope. He fought the urge to turn with wide, dazed eyes to Thorin and instead, with every able fiber of his mental and physical capabilities, he forced his gaze down to the toes of Orla's boots instead.

Orla stood and ran a delicate hand over Bilbo's head, ruffling the chestnut curls there in a final gesture of fondness. She turned from the hobbit then and bobbed her head once in acknowledgement to Thorin before turning to go. The rest thought she might say goodbye but she did not such thing.

Kili, being the dwarf who had spent the most time with her (more than even he knew, Bilbo realized), stepped in front of Orla to block her path. He looked up the head length distance to meet her eyes with an expectant frown of his own. For him, she paused long enough to smile the sort of half-hearted grin someone gives when they are saying goodbye. But she said nothing to him as she had to Bilbo and when he realized she would not, Kili removed himself from her path with a sigh.

"Goodbye, then," he called after her as she disappeared around the bend.

Dori spoke up for all to hear, shaking his globe-like head as he did so. "What an odd girl!" he exclaimed. It was, Bilbo knew, an absurd understatement.

Even Thorin agreed with Dori's observation, his own reply a rough, grunted version of a "yes." He looked down at the crudely written but well intentioned gifts in his hands and for a long while he said nothing else. Once he glanced at Bilbo just as the hobbit was stowing away his own specially made map.

In good grace, his nerves having finally calmed as much as he expected them to, Bilbo offered, "Would you like to see it?"

Thorin shook his head. "Keep it, Master Baggins. Durin knows you'll be needing it."

Bilbo's mouth clamped shut at the prince's remark but his riled temper soon cooled when he realized that Thorin had only stated a fact. Eager to keep the map secure, the hobbit tucked it into his breast pocket beside his handkerchief for safe keeping.

"Kili," Thorin called to his put-out looking nephew, "take the lead with Fili for a time. Having you back here is cause enough to make us all nervous."

The young dwarf was wise enough not to argue and, with a last glance over his shoulder, he wordlessly slipped to the front of the line just in time for Thorin to order the company along. Gruff though he was, the future King Under the Mountain was no fool and as such, he tucked the maps safely away into his pack before moving forward. Bilbo watched this and for the first time he wondered if Thorin had realized as much as himself. There was something odd about their leader's interactions with the human woman, something akin to trust. And if it was not trust per se, then it was not the same open hostility the dwarf had shown to so many others during their journey. This comforted Bilbo. Knowing that Thorin would not so easily look a gift horse – well, perhaps wolf – in the mouth was enough to muster a little more courage in the hobbit and soon he had picked up his pack once more and made to follow the rest of the company, confident that the new paths that now lay ahead were safer than they had been not half an hour earlier.

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**_Just a note_:**

**I'm not really sure if I like this chapter and the whole "Bilbo knows" bit so I might do a slight rewrite. So, as readers, how did ya'll feel about it? Let me know if this chapter seemed particularly awkward or out of place and I'll see what I can do to fix it.**


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry for the hiatus, ya'll. It was midterms and then it was spring brink and then…my sister had a baby! I was busy playing aunt to my newest nephew, who is going to be hell on wheels. Anyway, that being said, I wasn't idle. I'm three chapters ahead of schedule in writing and have the entire plot planned out to a T so that should limit any further bumps in development. For what it's worth, this chapter is officially dedicated to Owen Charlie!_

_This is mostly a transitional chapter but I hope you enjoy it just the same. Like in **The** **Hobbit**, Rivendell was the point at which the story really picked up steam. From here on out it's goblins, orcs, and spiders! Oh, my! Maybe a few sexy-time dwarves, too._

***Slight Re-write as of 3/25/13***

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As far as goodbyes were concerned, that one had left much to be desired. That being said, try as Orla might to be despondent about it, she could not quite manage it. Whatever part of her was disappointed with her farewell to the dwarves was outweighed by the memory of the look of recognition she had seen in the little hobbit's face. Of all the ones to recognize her, she had not guessed it would have been Mr. Baggins. Now, as the distance between her and the dwarves grew with every step, she could only hope that the knowledge the halfling now possessed would inspire him to trust in her maps.

It was a rare thing for someone to see past the fur and four-leggedness and glimpse the woman beneath it. Gandalf had done so, as had Elrond. One or two of the Du̒nedain rangers she had encountered in her travels had recognized her as well, having been acquaintances with her father and his father before him. Half the battle had been recognition and the other half prior knowledge great enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together. If anyone of the dwarves had discovered her secret, Orla would have been willing to put a solid gold piece on it being Thorin or Balin, both of whom had no doubt heard of the line of Beorn and the tales told about it.

But, to her surprise and, admittedly, her admiration, it had been little Bilbo that had finally caught on. There had been a look in his eyes, one of fear, for just a fleeting moment that had made her heart catch in her throat. She was many things but frightening was not something she had ever aspired to be. It was not until now, as she walked along the narrow path back towards the Last Homely House, that she realized Bilbo's fear had not stemmed from being afraid of her. As with others before him, it was his realization of the knowing that such a thing could exist and tread the very paths he walked without his ever knowing it. Still, her first impression seemed to be a good one and the hobbit's uncertainty had not lasted more than a few brief moments before he had simply looked on her as she was.

Would he tell the others? Perhaps, but it would be no great disservice to her if he did. If anything, should her gift come to light, she hoped that Kili would be the most unsettled by it. It would be good for him. Her lips twitched humorously at the corners as she thought of the shock the young dwarf would endure should he find out. First, he would gawk, wide eyed and disbelieving just as he had done when she had cornered him beneath the outcrop at the river and it would be then that the complaints would start and they would undoubtedl last the entire journey through. Poor Bilbo, Thorin, and the others would have to bear it for the rest of the quest to Erebor. At least, she hoped as much.

Maybe she was hoping for something so memorable. At the very least, she hoped that they would not forget her.

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"_Draug'adaneth!" _Young Estel's arms were wrapped around Orla's hips before she had managed to set two feet solidly on the city-side of the bridge at Rivendell's entrance.

"You left so quickly! I wasn't sure I'd see you again!" The boy gave her a disturbingly sharp look of disapproval, which quickly abated when she patted his cheek to reassure him that she was indeed returned.

Looking down at him, her grey eyes warmed by fondness, she pinched one of his dimpled cheeks before giving him a look that said, _Would I do that?_

"No, I 'spose you wouldn't. But things happen!" Estel gave her another squeeze before letting his arms fall back to his sides. "_Ada _says so."

With a gentle shake of her head, Orla elected against acknowledging the boy's last comment. _Ada _had almost certainly said more than "_things happen_." Instead, eager to set her sights on Gandalf, she looked away from the boy and around for any sign of a grey pointed hat and a long beard. There was neither hide nor hair of the Grey Wizard to be seen, unfortunately, and Orla sighed aloud in her agitation.

"Mithrandir was on his way to speak to the Lady of Lorien with _Ada_. The other wizard was there, too." Estel supplied this information freely, all but twiddling his thumbs with the onset of his boredom, having seen Orla's attention wondering.

_Other wizard?_ Orla raised a quizzical brow and waited for further elaboration which, considering the source, did not come. If there was another wizard in Rivendell that would certainly explain Gandalf's unwillingness to leave with Thorin and Company.

It did not matter much either way. Orla still had packing to do and young Estel was looking bored so she figured she might as well take advantage of that youthful energy while it was available. Reaching down to take his hand, Orla smiled at him in urging to come along with her. He was happy to oblige and fell in step beside her as they headed towards the rooms Orla had given during her stay. Once there, Orla quickly set to packing.

After having been bribed with the promise of a future marriage engagement, Estel agreed to fold her spare blanket and clothes. Orla, who was rather peculiar when it came to leaving things behind, gathered up her bed roll and a variety of knick-knacks that tended to come in handy while traveling. The journey from Bywater with the dwarves had been a long one, with more time spent on all fours than she was typically used to, and she had decided to travel a ways on her own two feet. The traveling would be slower and more dangerous, but she was looking forward to the feel of the road beneath her own two bipedal feet.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" Estel asked after he had finished rolling Orla's blanket into a neat and portable size. He carried it over to her pack, which was laid atop a chest at the foot of the bed, and sat it down. Pushing both the pack and blanket aside, he hopped up to perch beside it, knees folded beneath him as he watched Orla through curious eyes.

She sighed, having finished her own chores and turned to meet the child's look with her own. _A long while, _she tried to smile, _I have grand adventures to go on, you see. _

"Can I come with you?"

Orla shook her head, a tender frown creasing around her lips and eyes.

"I'll miss you, _draug'adaneth." _

_I'll miss you, too._

Estel sniffled, a sound not quite loud enough to place him on the verge of a tearful goodbye, and he looked away. Across the room, near the dresser she had been raiding for necessities, Orla allowed her body to rest back against the solid Elven craftsmanship. She folded her arms across her chest and noted fleetingly that her shoulder was much better than it had been yesterday. The miracles of Elvish healing would never cease, it seemed.

For a long moment she was content to allow herself the joy of watching the child. An uncomfortable ping of something long forgotten lodged between her throat and heart – regret, perhaps, but she did not care to acknowledge it. Estel was looking over at her sadly and she matched his gaze with her own. Her shoulders pulled low of their own accord, drooping as if weighed down by the moody air in the room. It was not long before Orla had to look away from the child she would miss so much, the one that reminded her of safety and home and of better days left behind her. She supposed, in a way, her affection for Estel stemmed partly from an innate child-longing. That and perhaps the admiration she held in his innocence.

"Will you come back again?"

Ah, that was question wasn't it? Orla could not say that she rightly knew and she would offer a child like Estel nothing less than certainty. Her travels took her far and wide, to and fro, and often times the paths she chose to tread did not end as she had imagined they would. She had chosen the Icebay of Forochel as her endpoint but that could just as easily change to Edoras or the Barrow Downs in a month's time. So, without any other option, she shrugged.

"I hope I see you again, _draug'adaneth." _

Orla fought the urge to speak, to offer words of placation and reassurance. Perhaps, to any other she may have. But not to Estel. She could only hope that, if she did him see again, he would be the same happy, free-spirited child as he was now. She hoped he remained a troublemaker and jokester for the rest of his days, with a laugh that grew from the high-pitched jingle of his adolescence into the deep, healthy, belly-aching laugh of manhood. She wanted that as much for Estel as she wanted the dwarves to reach Erebor safely.

Her bags having been packed and with not much else left to do, she pushed away from spot by the dresser and held out a hand to the child across the room.

A grin, broad and happy, spread over her lips as she asked, "_Aes?"_

Estel responded in kind, his own smile breaking over his lips to dimple his cheeks as he scooted over the edge of the chest and onto his feet.

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Night had settled over Rivendell, the twilight hours having slipped away many hours earlier. It did not matter; the time made no difference to the two figures that stood out on the balcony over the Elf-Lord's private quarters. They were far more silent than the night that cloaked them, the only sounds around them being the gurgle of a brook and the faint song of chimes dancing in the breeze.

Finally, after a long while had passed and the chimes had ceased their musical dance, Elrond spoke, looking over his shoulder to the Maiar at his side. "When will you leave us, Mithrandir? You spoke not of it in front of Sauruman the White, though I suspect that was your intention."

Gandalf smiled at the elf's perceptiveness, though the movement of his lips could not easily be seen beneath the tangles of his great, grey beard. "At first light, old friend. I think that best. If I dally in your valley for too long, I fear the trouble Thorin and his dwarves may get up to."

Though Elrond said nothing in response, it was clear that he felt the same, although the idea of that motley group getting into a spot of trouble was not entirely unpleasant to him.

"And Orla? Estel tells me that she will depart on the morn as well."

"I have not spoken to her since she went dashing out this morning," Gandalf replied, "but I suspect she is as eager as I to leave this fair valley behind." He glanced at Elrond, who had turned a sharp cheek to him in mild offense, before adding, "Only with the fondest of memories, of course."

"I think it best that she will not join the dwarves. I thought perhaps that she would travel with them to her father's lands but it seems that she has decided against it."

Gandalf knew a question when he heard one, particularly when it came from one such as Elrond. "Orla has not ventured into her father's lands for a decade past. Her heart lays elsewhere and despite any goodwill and fond wishes she has for Thorin's dwarves, she will not be swayed in that regard."

Elrond took a long step forward to place his hands against the stone railing at the balconies edge, not turning his head as he said in admission, "I confess I do not know why, even if it does please me to see her take a safer path."

Clearing his throat, Gandalf made to fumble for his pipe before stopping himself upon remembering that smoking his old Tobey in Elrond's private quarters would be most rude. His stalling did not put off the elf at his side despite his high hopes of doing so and he finally gave the Elf-Lord the only answer he could. "Likewise, my friend, I confess that I have not asked her."

Not quite satisfied but not one to show it, Elrond allowed the topic to fade away and the two fell into silence again.

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Morning came too soon. The sun's rays had only just begun to peek through the valley when Orla opened her eyes. Her sight was immediately bombarded with a spectacular show of golden-pink and orange rays as they filtered in through the sheer curtains that made a half-hearted attempt at blocking them. Good curtain makers, elves were not. At least, that would have been the conclusion most folks such as dwarves and hobbits would have come to but, alas, Orla was neither and as such she clambered out of the bed with a big stretch and a yawn. After washing, she dressed quickly, well versed in the underappreciated art of knowing how many clothes and such to layer and whether or not to wear her thickest or thinnest socks for on-foot travel.

Swooping up her pack and settling it across her shoulders, she paused before scanning the room for anything she might be leaving behind. The bed, she noticed, was still unmade and she thought that perhaps she should be a good guest and make it but, knowing the elves, they would just strip it for washing before remaking it themselves in the proper Elven fashion, which usually involved too many turns and fancy folds for Orla's tastes. Taking the messy bed out of the equation, there was little else in the room to show that she had ever been there. What scant few possessions she owned or had acquired during her stay were stowed away in the leather pack at her back. So it was that without further ado, Orla left her room in Rivendell behind her for the last time.

By now, the trails of Elrond's valley had become familiar to her and she made her way to Rivendell's entrance without any particularly strenuous effort. As expected, when she came down one of the many staircases, she saw Lord Elrond waiting below with Estel and several other elves at his side. They were not waiting for her it seemed, but for Gandalf, who was sitting astride a compact but steady looking grey horse. Like Orla, the wizard had packed his bags and, unlike her, looked as if he were about to set off in the same direction of Thorin and Company. Whatever business he'd had with the visiting wizard must have been concluded and he was soon to off on the next leg of his adventure with the dwarves and Mr. Bilbo.

Without a word but with many a smile, Orla joined the group, grinning cheerfully over to Gandalf and Elrond. Gandalf beamed back at her, pleased to see her well and in such high spirits.

"On the road again, are you? Already?" the Maiar asked, shaking his head as his grin faded into the mass of facial hair.

Orla bobbed her head. Nearby, Elrond spoke and her attention was drawn to him. "May we expect your company within these halls again?"

Orla's eyes set to sparkling and she gave the Elf-Lord a cheeky wink. _I certainly hope so!_

Elrond shook his head, his own smile warm despite his formality. "I shall rejoice the day we host Beorn's daughter and the Grey Wizard in Imladris again. Until then, I would give you a gift, Orla."

Glancing at the old wizard, Orla posed to him a silent question, one eyebrow raised curiously at Elrond's announcement. Gandalf made a terribly transparent show of ignoring her and instead patted the grey mane of his horse hard enough to make the mare toss her head in protest. Just as Orla raised her hands to protest any gifts Elrond could give her, a second elf had floated up beside her and had graciously dropped something into her open palms before she could refuse. Open mouthed at the sudden presentation of the gift, Orla had to remind herself to shut her lips lest she catch begin to attract flies and, rather than do that, she took a moment to appraise what Elrond had bestowed on her. It was a bow, fine and sleek and carved from a master Elvish hand. Beautiful in its simplicity, the bow was one of the finest she had ever laid eyes on and would no doubt fire an arrow as true as any other bow to be found.

Easing her grip around the smooth curve of the wood, she shook her head. She could not accept such a thing. She lifted her arms and outstretched them to Elrond. As she did, something beneath her shirt gave a faint jingle and she was reminded of an earlier gift that had already been given to her. It was the mithril-inlaid shirt that had been spread out for her amongst her things the first day after awakening in Rivendell. The frustrated sigh that fluttered out from between her lips at the realization was not something she could do anything about. With one hand she reached down and jerked a finger at her shirt before shaking her head at Elrond in refusal once more.

Nearby, Gandalf scolded her from atop his horse. "Now, Orla, I think it best that you endeavor to set aside your stubbornness for this occasion at least."

All that earned him was a glare and another stern head shake.

The hand that was still on the bow was soon covered by another warm touch and Orla glanced to see that Elrond had placed his hand atop hers, his slender Elven fingers curling around her much smaller hand as if he was gripping a small stone. "It is a gift, Orla," he explained calmly, "A token of gratitude for the bravery you have displayed and the favor you have performed for Mithrandir."

Orla muffled a rude snort before jerking her head to look away from both the elf and wizard. Her bottom lip jutted out farther than was necessary to illustrate her displeasure but she said nothing else in protest. The shirt and the bow would come in handy and would no doubt serve to ease her mind as she traveled. The truth was that she liked to hope she would not need either of the gifts and accepting them just made her feel as if she was inviting trouble to find her and force her to make use of them.

Instead, having resigned herself to accepting the Elf-Lord's treasures, she carefully extricated her hand and the bow from Elrond's grip before bringing both up over her heart in an unmistakable sign of thanks. She bowed her head and, though she said nothing, she knew that it was more than enough to placate both the elf and the wizard. Elrond appeared pleased as he took a step back from her and Gandalf was looking…well, Orla realized, he was looking off in the direction of the Misty Mountains, no doubt thinking of the journey to come.

Orla slung the bow over her shoulders, adjusting the taunt string so that it lay across her chest. It was awkward for her to bear a weapon; she had carried a bow before but such times were rare and usually short lived since she tended to have to leave them behind if she ever changed her form. That, or she just generally misplaced such items and lost them within the miles of woodlands and mountains. Before she could even adjust to the bow's almost nonexistent weight at her back, the elf who had handed her weapon had reappeared and was draping over her shoulder a quiver of arrows. The elf's hands worked in silence and before long he had tightened the quiver's strap to fit her shoulder snuggly so that it would not slip.

"Now, you are ready," Elrond observed as the Elven helper flittered away from Orla's side.

Orla could only nod. _I suppose I am. _

"Do be careful, my friend." Gandalf nudged his mare forward and Orla found herself reaching to stroke the horse's soft coat as she looked up the long distance to Gandalf's smiling face. He was looking down at her, his grey beard hanging down the space between his chin and the top of Orla's head so that she was able to reach up and give it a playful tug, much to the wizard's amusement. He chuckled deep and warm so that the sound reverberated pleasantly within Orla's chest.

Shaking her head, she flicked him a quick wink just in time for him to catch the flash of grey before it was hidden behind a curtain of bouncing curls. _Be well, Gandalf, _that look of hers said amidst all its fondness. _I hope to see you again. _ She nudged her head in the direction of the Mountains that lay beyond and cast a worried glance at them. _Watch out for Thorin and the lot. They'll be needing it. _

"I'll do what I can, my dear. Do take care and may your road go ever on," Gandalf told her. As he looked at her, Orla thought that she might have spotted a flicker of sadness there in his eyes but it was gone before she could give it much thought.

A moment later, Elrond had gripped both her shoulders beneath his soft hands and he gave her a gentle squeeze before releasing her. "May the Valar guide your path, Orla, daughter of Beorn, down the longest roads and through the deepest darkness, wherever it leads you."

_And you, _she replied with the incline of her head.

Finally, having made nearly all her goodbyes, she came to the hardest one of all. Estel stood near his guardian, his dark head downturned so as to not look her in the eyes when she came to him. Orla supposed that in a way the two of them had already said their goodbyes and it pained her to have to do so again for the sake of formality. Crouching down, her knees bending under her easily so that she was level with the youngling, she reached out and nudged his chin up.

She had feared that he might be on the edge of tears but she should have known better. Estel was as clear eyed as he had been the day she had first met him and he looked across at her, grey eyes to grey.

"See you again?"

Despite all his boyish flirtations and proclamations, Orla suspected Estel knew just as well as she that there was a chance he would not see her in Rivendell again. "I could come with you, you know," he said. Puffing his chest out with a deep inhalation of air, Estel crossed his arms and for a moment he looked just as stalwart and determined as any king of Men or even, dare she say, Thorin Oakenshield himself.

But, despite the genuine nature of the boy's offer, Orla had to shake her head.

"I could learn to track and hunt like you do. I might not be like you but I could be as good as a ranger."

By this time Orla's eyes had grown tender and her lips had to be pursed against the wave sadness that threatened to breach her carefully composed façade. Still unwilling to let those feelings breach her outward barrier, she shook her head.

"You could teach me. You're more fun than _Ada_. We'd travel all over and have lots of adventures -"

"Estel," Orla said quietly.

"I'd protect you. I'd have your back. You wouldn't get struck by any more arrows ever –"

With nothing left to say, Orla pulled the child to her before he could finish his thought. She hugged him tight, her chin resting atop the dark mass of curls as she squeezed him to her for a final goodbye. His small hands, much smaller than even her own, clutched at her back and gripped tightly the leather coat she wore. She thought at first that he might not let go but finally his grip on her went slack and she pulled away. The boy looked across to her, his eyes finally shining with a barely perceptible gleam and he announced quietly, "I have something for you."

Orla nodded her head silently and watched as he reached around behind his back to pull free something that had been tucked away out of sight from his guardian and any other onlookers. Quickly, when he was certain Lord Elrond was not looking, Estel placed something in Orla's hands. He looked at it, a little bashful now that he had presented it to her and, before Orla could register what it was, Estel had whispered one last goodbye and darted away from her side. Up the nearby set of stars he dashed, only turning to look back at the group below when he had reached the top step. With a grin, one that was wild and rosy cheeked in its genuineness, Estel called back, "Goodbye, Mithrandir! Goodbye, Orla! Farewell!"

And before Orla could open her mouth to call back or even raise her hand in goodbye, Estel, whose fate lay many years down the road, disappeared from her sight with a final flash of grey eyes and the footfall of light feet against Elven stone.

She sighed and the breath that had escaped her lips felt stale and distant, more like a heavy breeze than her own exhalation. She really needed to get going, she decided, before she burst into tears. When she moved on from a particular location, rarely was there anyone to whom she had to say goodbye. More often than not over the past decade, her company had been comprised of trees and the occasional mute animal and, other than the great Ents of Fangorn, company such as that rarely spoke back. As it was, a lump had already lodged itself inconveniently in the center of Orla's throat and she was all at once grateful for the fact that she was not a conversationalist.

It was only as she went to push herself up from her knees that she thought to look down at the gift  
Estel had given her, which still lay forgotten in her hands. It was a small dagger, the sort that was made to go in one's boot. Like the bow Elrond had bestowed on her, the dagger was of Elvish make, curved and thin with a smooth engraved handle made of fine ash wood. How Estel had come across it, Orla did not know but she slipped it into her boot nonetheless before standing and turning back to Gandalf and Lord Elrond, who had both been chatting away quietly during her goodbyes to Estel. Elrond noticed the look on Orla's face and he turned from Gandalf then, only to incline his head to the little human woman one last time. Orla smiled at him gratefully, her eyes tickling in the corners more than they really should have. Soon she would start leaking like old plumbing and that was something that she just could not allow.

The smile she wore only grew bigger as she looked fondly up at Gandalf, whose own eyes were shining brightly in the growing light of the morning.

_Farewell! _Her eyes said in a flash of grey. Be _well and look out for the dwarves!_ She winked and one twinkling eye disappeared beneath the bat of fair lashes. _Better you than me_.

And, with that, Orla gathered her pack up onto her back, double checked the bow and quiver, and left the home of Elrond and his elves behind her for the final time.

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_Ok, so no dwarves in this chapter but that's just because I had to divide the original up in order to make it more manageable. Since it's already written I hope to have it up either Saturday or Sunday. Hope that makes up for the long wait! _


	11. Chapter 11

**See, only three days between posts!**

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It was several miles before Kili decided to renew his torment of the halfling. They would soon be crossing the border out of the Elves' protected territory and, when Kili had heard Balin tell Bilbo as much, the hobbit had remained suspiciously calm.

"Not worried are you, Mr. Baggins?" Kili asked, sidling up to the hobbit who walked near the front of the company. He kept his voice low so that his uncle would not hear him. Then again, Thorin Oakenshield seemed too lost in thought to take much notice of anything other than the path he walked along.

Bilbo should have glared at him in response to his tiny jab, in fact, Kili was counting on it. But the hobbit did no such thing. With a determined shrug and a bob of his head, Bilbo replied with an irksome, noncommittal statement. "I feel better with the maps."

"Ah, your way home. Better keep a closer eye on them than you do your handkerchiefs, burglar. It would be a sad loss if something were to happen to them." Determined to raise the hobbit's ire, Kili jabbed at Bilbo's breast pocket for emphasis.

If Mr. Baggins cared about or even noticed Kili's attention, he did not show it. Unfortunately for the young dwarf, whatever plans he'd had for pestering – or perhaps, more accurately, pilfering precious maps – had to be set aside for the time being when he heard his uncle call for him. With night soon settling upon them, Thorin had deemed it wise for Fili and Kili to search the path ahead while the rest of the dwarves stayed back. Bilbo and his maps, along with all chances of fun and entertainment, were forgotten as Kili set off with his brother to walk ahead. Half an hour later, they returned with news for the rest of company.

"The path splits in two up ahead. One goes low while the other leads higher into the mountains," Fili reported.

Old Balin shook his head. "I'd avoid wondering too near the base of these mountains if I were you. Many a foul creature calls the valley below home."

"And many a foul thing calls the cliffs above us home as well. I see no difference. Choose one," Dwalin said, offering his own boisterous opinion.

Thorin, having heard his share of stories concerning the Misty Mountains' dangers, let out a long, heavy sigh. He shrugged off his pack, which had honestly begun to bite uncomfortably into the muscle of his shoulders anyway. Kneeling down so that he could better dig through it, he said, "There are many paths in these mountains, we all know as much. Many though there may be, most of them are known cheats and lead to bad ends."

From behind Dwalin and Balin, Thorin heard the hobbit pipe up and, though he could not see Mr. Baggins for he was tucked away as short people tend to be when surrounded by larger folks, he heard him just the same.

"What of the maps? Times like this are when such things come in handy. When the way is lost or hidden or the sign's been knocked down."

"I don't think there was ever a sign here, Mr. Baggins," Fili called in response with a shake of his fair head.

The future King Under the Mountain fought back valiantly against the damnable twitching that plagued the corners of his mouth. It was a battle that was mostly hidden beneath the straggly growth of his black beard and as such, the burglar had likely not noticed any of it. Thorin, as was usual, was in no mood to humor the halfling, even if his words had possessed some measure of sense. The truth was that Thorin had already been looking for the maps when Bilbo had spoken up. It was then that his fingers finally closed around the leather satchel that had worked its way to the very bottom of his near bottomless pack. He drew it out and soon one of the maps was spread before him, its chicken-scratch bared for all to see and puzzle over. A great deal of head scratching took place over the next few minutes until Thorin – with Balin's input – finally deciphered that the path the human woman had marked in this portion of the mountains was leading upwards rather than down toward the valley.

"Do you really think we ought to trust that slip of girl?" Someone called from the group of dwarves, most of whom had taken a seat against the cliff side while they awaited orders from their fearless leader.

"She looked t' me like the sneaky sort." Gloin called, scratching at his bright ginger beard in recollection.

Kili appeared to take offence. He stepped forward and jerked a finger in Gloin's direction as he fired off, "Oy! They're good maps! I trust her."

Gloin did not look convinced and merely waved a hand at the lad. "Elf maps, bah!"

Ignoring the debate over Orla's trustworthiness, Thorin grimaced at the next suggestion as Dori said, "Oughtn't we wait on the wizard? He can tell us for certain."

Shaking his head, Thorin replied, "Gandalf will find us either way. For now, we take the high road." With that, he folded up the map and sealed securely back into the satchel before putting it away again.

The debate was immediately settled and the dwarves quieted. One by one they stood, each picking up there packs and settling them on their shoulders, ready to resume their journey, a journey which had just gotten considerably steeper, thanks in no small part to a woman who was, at that very moment, headed in the exact opposite direction.

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"How many days, Fili?"

"Three, I told you!"

"It's been more than three. I've got the sore feet to prove it."

Kili grunted and cast a long, sad look at the feet that had just been mentioned. "It seems as if we've been walking forever. The path keeps going up and up," he gazed woefully at the ever steepening route before adding, "and _up_."

"Stop whining," the older brother groaned, his head going back with a self-pitying shake as if to express woes of his own.

"Where's the wizard?" Kili asked. At the moment, he was willing to change the topic to anything so long as he did not have to think about the blisters that were beginning to form on his heels due to the awkward incline – or, even worse, the biting cold that was growing sharper with every passing mile as they progressed further into the heights of the Misty Mountains.

To answer his brother's question, Fili gave a tired roll of his shoulders and said plainly that he did not have the faintest idea.

Kili, who was growing more and more bored and grumpy by the minute, groused, "Wasn't he supposed to join us by now?"

"Aye."

He would be getting nowhere with his brother, Kili decided and as a result he found himself scanning the line of dwarves for a head of curly chestnut hair. He spotted Bilbo soon enough. The hobbit was trekking along, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets and his cloak drawn tight around his shoulders. No sooner than Kili had spotted him did the sky above darken as clouds fat with rain began to roll in. They seemed near enough to touch, so high were the dwarves into the mountains and Kili wondered how long they had before the cold was accompanied by a downpour as well. Bilbo noticed it too, looking up bitterly at the sky and appearing every bit as bothered as he had been when a troupe of dwarves had shown up unannounced and cleared out his larder.

"How are you fairing, burglar?" Kili called back, his words carrying loudly over the small distance. No sooner than the words had left his mouth had Thorin caught him by the collar of his coat. Where his uncle had come from, Kili did not know. With a muffled yelp, he flinched and glanced apologetically at the older dwarf.

"Hush, boy!" his uncle hissed into his ear. The warmth of Thorin's breath was nearly scalding against the younger dwarf's cold cheek and he twisted uncomfortably within Thorin's grip. "You'll have more than bitter cold to worry about if you keep shouting."

Kili was abashed; had it been possible, he would have melted into the rocks right then and there. "I meant no harm –"

Thorin growled, "I know," and the turned him a loose. If there was any further reprimand to come, Kili was waiting in vain. Thorin turned from him and raised his hand to bring the other dwarves to a halt. "We'll stop here for a while," Thorin proclaimed, his voice low. It seemed at first an odd place to stop, there on the ledge of a precariously high cliff, but there was good sense in it. Dark rocks jutted out over the dwarves' heads and protected them from the snow and rain that was causing the clouds above to swell and blacken in the sky. The path itself was at a point which curved inward to the mountain side, shielding them from much of the wind that had been stirring their coattails in its blustery wake. It was as good a place as they would find for now. The dwarves shuffled amongst each other but they all kept their backs pressed to the rock wall and any rearranging that needed to be done was done with extra care.

Kili tiptoed his way around Nori and Ori and slipped around Dori, maneuvering until he came to rest beside the hobbit and Bofur.

"You didn't answer my question, Master Hobbit." Kili remarked, sitting his pack down and taking a seat atop it.

Bilbo mostly ignored him and did not say anything for a long while, though that may have been due in part to the _clickity-clack_ of his teeth as they chattered. The hobbit had cast his gaze away from the dwarves and instead was looking past the distant peaks of the mountains. Kili followed his line of sight, trailing the path the hobbit's eyes had worn past the motley gathering of dwarves and on into the distance. Realization slowly came over him and the young dwarf could only look to Bofur, who had been watching Bilbo closely, perhaps already knowing what the hobbit was longing after. Bofur's dark eyes flicked to Kili and the mustached dwarf shook his head and sighed in a way that was completely devoid of cheer.

It was then that the rain finally began to fall, coming down quick and without any unnecessary formality, as if someone had untied a flour sack and dumped it upside down. Before they could even think to get their hoods up, they were all near soaked, hair plastered to their cold faces and eyes half shut against the force of the falling water.

It was enough of a trigger to prompt the hobbit to speak and when he did, he sounded far more despondent than he had since leaving Elrond's sanctuary days earlier. The wear and tear of traversing the Misty Mountains was leaving its mark on poor Bilbo and there was naught anyone could do about it.

"It's nearly summer down there, you know," Bilbo told them thoughtfully, "It's warm. The Shire will be getting ready for haymaking and picnics. The fruit will be about ripe by now and those Sackville-Bagginses will have claimed nearly all the blackberries in the whole of Hobbiton so that they can get to making their jellies and tarts. But I don't want thoughts of jellies and tarts right now, I don't think."

To be honest, neither did Kili.

Bofur nudged Bilbo and offered the hobbit a warm but useless smile, one which was partially hidden through the cloak of the storm. "Cheer up, Bilbo. A frown like that does no good."

Bilbo's frown lessened somewhat and he tore his eyes away long enough to look at the two dwarves beside him. Kili clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly, feeling that he had to do something to keep the halfling from stewing in such thoughts any longer. He had only just opened his mouth when the tremors started. He thought he had imagined them at first, his eyes flicking to Bofur only to see that the dwarf was sitting ramrod straight, his face a plaster-cast of alarm.

Bilbo's eyes went alight with sudden fear and his head snapped round from dwarf to dwarf. "Did you feel that? It moved. The ground moved!"

"Just the tumble of rocks –" But Bofur's words were interrupted as the "tumble of rocks" turned into something that for all intents and purposes felt like an avalanche. All around them eyes went wide as the path they currently sat on begin to tremble and vibrate as if the mountain itself was coming alive beneath them.

"It's not just the tumble of rocks!" Kili cried, one finger jerking out to point across the dark valley to the far side of the mountain. "Durin's beard, it's the stone giants! Just like in the stories!" As wide as the young dwarf's eyes were, which was quite wide – as big as saucers just about – it was easy for the remaining dwarves and hobbit to see that he was soon to lose his senses to awe and amazement…if he did not lose his life to the rocks that were crashing down about them first.

"Stay away from the edge, Kili," Thorin growled in warning. Despite his efforts, his voice was drowned out by an extra loud crack of stone above.

The company was soon to come to the conclusion that there really was nothing quite so alarming as having rocks buckle and give below the soles of one's feet all while cracking and splitting above one's head. As remarkable as the stone giants were in all their towering, rocky power, they were even more unnerving to the dwarves stranded in the heights of mountains.

"We must move on!" Thorin shouted, his voice booming out louder than it had before. "If we don't get blown off, or drowned, or struck by lightning, we'll be picked up by some giant and kicked sky-high!"

"Well, look at the maps again!" Bilbo said, his voice half full of fear and the other half full of the absolute, undeniable need to get up and haul his little hobbit feet back down the mountain as quickly as they would carry him.

But it seemed that there was to be no time for Thorin or anyone else to look at the precious maps. It was just about then that Thorin's prediction came to the very brink of proving true as one of the giants happened to hurl its great, big stone fist back into the mountainside where the dwarves stood, landing only twenty feet above their poor, shuddering heads and sending a spray of splintered rock showering down over them.

The maps were immediately forgotten as Thorin ordered the dwarves forward before a second blow from the giant could land any closer and render any remaining luck they might have null and void. On the dwarves sprinted, up and around the narrow path, their packs bouncing atop their backs noisily enough to cover their scrambling footsteps.

All seemed well as the distance between the giants and themselves grew until suddenly the hobbit, who had been running alongside Bifur and Bofur, lost his footing. Down he went with a cry, his small hands grabbing for purchase on anything within his reach, which only happened to be Bifur's coattails. The coattails gave a horrible rip and Bilbo, who, as it was, happened to be teetering too precariously for his liking over the edge of the mountain, went for a tumble head over heels. Now, Bilbo had wanted to leave Middle Earth safe and warm in his bed in the Shire when the time came, not plummet head first to his death in the Misty Mountains. Such was his luck that both Bofur and Bifur, with his ripped coat, caught him by either foot before he could fall too far.

There he was, dangling over the edge and shouting colorfully all the while as the cousins tugged at his feet, feet which were slick with grime and wet earth. It was just as their hands began slipping when Bilbo came to notice another presence at his side. He thought at first that someone else had slipped and fallen and that there would likely be a race between them to see who could reach the bottom the quickest. Despite his fearful state, he managed to glance up long enough to see that it was Thorin who was now hanging beside him. Thorin, Bilbo decided, was the worst possible candidate to be hanging from the cliff since he was the one who had to lead this motley crew of dwarves to their doomed city. But none of that really mattered to the hobbit until he felt Thorin's hand fish down and catch in the collar of his shirt.

With a loud cry, the future King Under the Mountain managed to haul Bilbo up, folding him like a lawn chair until Bilbo managed to grab the edge of the cliff again long enough for Bofur and Bifur to help him up. He had only just crawled to his belly and dirtied his lips from kissing the semi-solid ground that he noticed Dwalin and Fili pull Thorin up beside him. As he lay there, Bilbo thought that the deep, heaving breaths he heard Thorin taking stemmed from relief at no longer being suspended by his finger tips over the cliff's edge but, alas, upon taking a good and grateful look at the expedition's leader, the hobbit realized that it was anger that was rolling off the dwarf in audible waves. Thorin's eyes were flinty, cold despite knowing the terror the hobbit had just endured. Suddenly Bilbo feared all at once that he had escaped one fate just to be turned to stone moments later by the shear harshness of the gaze that was leveled on him.

"Fool," he saw Thorin's lips shape the word even though the dwarf was too breathless to give voice to it.

Before the hobbit could make amends, he was being clapped over his shoulder by an elated Bofur. "I had though you lost for sure, Bilbo!" the dwarf cried, his hand still coming down rough and repetitively against Bilbo's quaking shoulders.

It was Thorin who spoke next, having clambered to his feet after a small boulder, tossed by the giants, had crash landed nearby. He grumbled, "Fool's been lost ever since he joined us." Thorin's words came as growls more than actual syllables and he continued to look upon Bilbo with his jaw clenched tight. Something else was boiling just beneath the surface of the dwarf and, though Bilbo was afraid to look too closely, he thought he caught a brief glimmer of worry in the dwarf's eyes – worry that was no doubt for the ones that followed him, the ones that now faced terrible danger because of him. But the look was gone so quickly that Bilbo was certain he had imagined it in the first place.

Thorin whirled about, his black hair sending a spray of water far enough to pelt all those who stood nearby. He bellowed, "Move! All of you up the path, now!"

Feet hustling one over another, clumsy and hurried, the line of dwarves sprinted forward, bobbing and weaving amongst fallen rocks and lightning strikes; it became hard to distinguish between the two dangers, the stone giants with their noisy game and the storm with its great, soggy ruckus. Dwarves scattered and flitted between each other and there was hardly one among them who was not clinging to another.

But woe befell them once again after they had made it out of range of the giants' destruction. In their hurry they had lost sight of the path and they were left to find themselves scattered about one side of the mountain, some high and others low as they looked about to regroup their numbers.

"Looks like a cave down below!" Nori had spied the cave's black mouth through the darkness and sheath of rain. He called out loud enough for all too hear.

Like flies to honey the dwarves all closed in one the little hole in the mountainside. Some took longer than others to get inside but eventually they all made it safe and sound and _wet_. Though the rain had not made it inside the cavern, the air was still damp, smelling heavy with ozone and wet earth.

"I don't think I like the looks of this one bit," Ori remarked quietly.

"Agreed. We're too far off the path," Fili observed with a shake of his head. He turned and looked across the small space to his uncle, who was lingering near the entrance, his eyes turned out into the darkness. Clearing his throat, Fili made a quiet suggestion. "We need to find it again."

Beside the fair-haired dwarf, Kili, who was looking rather akin to a drowned swamp rat, nodded his head vigorously enough to send his hair splattering wetly against the leather of his coat. "It's too dark in here," he said, having sense enough to keep his voice low, "Maybe we should light a fire?"

"No," Thorin objected. He turned from the mouth of the cave as one hand went up in staunch refusal of the idea. "No fires, not in here. We'll wait 'til morning before we move on. For now, we'll rest and take watch in shifts. There's no telling what might slither out of these cracks when we've closed our eyes."

Bilbo looked mildly discouraged at the idea of going without a fire. In the calm, his teeth had found time enough to set to chattering and before long his thoughts had begun to wander back to the Shire and the early summer that had no doubt made the night there warm and pleasant. Up until a few hours ago, the hobbit had thought he'd been doing rather well. Now, in the awful, light-devoid dark of the cave, he found himself feeling much older and wearier than he had ever felt before. Without a word, he sat down, his damp clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin as his knees folded beneath him. The other followed and it appeared that they had all come to the same conclusion – that there wasn't one among them who was not in due need of night's rest.

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* * *

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Orla could smell them long before she saw them.

It was during her third night since leaving the sanctuary of Rivendell that the uglier side of seeping under the stars reared its foul head. It was in the form of screeches and the scratching of clawed feet that she first became aware of the goblins' presence. She should have smelled them, and would have, too, if it had not been for the storm that had rolled in earlier in the night.

She lay on the ground, tucked atop a sheltered outcropping. Her eyes snapped open when she heard the tell-tale gibberish and high-pitched cries as the sound carried over the wind. She half rose from her pallet and tilted her head, keen ears pricking for any sign to judge the goblins' nearness to the camp she had made. Many a ranger would have reached immediately for their weapon but Orla's merely waited, hands still and her breathing anxious. No thought went to the bow or knife that was tucked into her boot. Perhaps that was naivety on her part; she preferred to think of it as optimism.

There were few things in all of Middle Earth that Orla could say she genuinely hated. Overcooked tenderloin was one and goblins were another. And at the moment she was almost positively certain that she hated goblins first and foremost. Right then, even the smell of the worst burnt tenderloin would have been preferable to the odor that was wafting down from the mountainside courtesy of the ill-directed wind. The scent of goblins was most peculiar and, having encountered it in the past, Orla knew that she could have identified it even earlier had she been awake to do so. The scent of Misty Mountain goblins – and truthfully, all other goblins – made her stomach churn in a supremely uncomfortable mix of woe and disgust.

Finally, as the smell and sounds grew stronger, her thoughts turned to weapons she had with her. Being armed with only a bow and small dagger - the gift Estel had pilfered from someone - she was not keen on the idea of confrontation. She was proficient with the bow but her skill lay in hunting, not fighting goblin hordes. Normally, she was loathe to stick anything that did not deserve a good sticking but even if the little dagger could actually stick, it would not be able to stick fast and deadly enough to protect her from an onslaught of goblins, most of which were probably equipped with pointier sticks than her own.

She could possibly change her form and slink away into the darkness but that meant leaving behind any provisions she had to be plundered by the approaching creatures. Having only been on the road for three days, that idea was not at all appealing. As such, being out of options and soon out of time, Orla swept up her blanket and bedroll and stuffed them hurriedly into her bag. She shrugged on the heavy, messily packed pack and darted into the shadows.

Down the rock face she slid, her hip and side scraping painfully against the gravel and stone. Grains of dirt and rock dust went up into her boots and pants' legs and she cursed the pitfall of human clothing as she came stumbling to her feet at the _tiny_ path below. The road she had been traveling earlier had been meant for carts and horses. The one she now found herself on had been meant for bunny rabbits.

Above her, past the 20 or so feet of mountain she had just come down, she could hear the goblins as they came upon the site where she had been sleeping. Stupid by nature, they might not have noticed the disturbed earth where she had lain but they would almost certainly smell her. 'Almost certainly' transcended into 'certainly' when Orla heard the crowing grow so loud that it pierced the night for miles around.

"Man flesh! Man flesh!" one of them cried in its awful, guttural voice.

"I smells it!" another shouted gleefully.

"Fresh!" Man-flesh cried again. "_Fressshhh_!"

Down below, Orla bit down on her lip to keep back a whimper. The sound of the harsh, garbled words was like glass in her ears, scraping and cutting until it reached her brain. She hated goblins, hated their voices and their smell, hated their ugliness and foul nature…but, more immediately, she also feared them. _Where are those dwarves when you need them?_ Her mind fumbled to think of Thorin and Co. but the memory did her no good. She was on her own.

Orla knew that before long she would have to make a run for it. It was no use staying lodged behind a tiny bolder while hoping vainly that the goblins would not smell her scent among the earthy stone. So run she did. Her breath was shallow in a chest tight with fear and with one last shaky exhale, she used the hands that had been splayed over the cold stone at her back to propel herself away from the wall as she bolted down the narrow way.

Three loping strides down the path and she heard the goblins rejoice as they spotted her. Her heart pounded between her ears so loudly that she hardly heard the first words of their song go up. She had thought that there would be more screeching as they came down the mountain after her but she was terribly wrong.

"_Hunting, hunting, crowing, cackling!_

_Down the rock, up, and back!_

_We track, we track, O' lads we track!_

_A tasty bite – bumping, bleeding – _

_Bring it back, lads, bring it back!"_

Their goblin song went up into the night, twisting the wind and tainting the air like the foulest of smoke stacks. Over rock she flew, tripping and tumbling, her natural grace failing her as it was replaced by fearful haste.

"_Running, hunting, hunting, running!_

_Man or elf, we chase and track – _

_Track and track to drag him back,_

_Back to the deep, black crack!"_

Another horrid chorus went up with the accompanying _tap-scratch- tap _music of claws. Ahead the path had given away, part of the mountain having been weathered to nothing long ago, leaving a massive gap from one side to another. Orla dared not slow her pace even as the path narrowed so much that one foot was slamming down directly in front of the other. Still the gobbling song grew louder and a growl, one so full of frustration and fear that it frightened the very woman who had uttered it, erupted from deep within Orla's chest.

Just then she came to the edge where the not-path gave out and with a shouted cry, she leapt. Her arms went out, stretched before her in hopes of catching the far edge, and her feet kicked in mid air as if to propel her falling body forward. With a loud _crack!_ and subsequent _whoomph! _her torso hit against the jagged rock of the far side. One knee had come down too hard against the edge and she feared it had been shattered on impact. The joint was fine, however, and with a whining growl, she moved to hoist herself up.

There would be no such luck for her though.

A hand, cold and nasty, closed around her dangling ankle and, before a single cry of surprise could be uttered, the lurker snatched Orla down into the crack, leaving the goblin song ringing in her ears as she was dragged screaming into the cold belly of the Misty Mountains.

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* * *

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Whether it was the latest hours of the night or the wee hours of the morning, Bilbo could not be sure. Either way, it was black as pitch when he opened his eyes. After Thorin's outburst and the unwelcome excitement with the stone giants, not to mention the biting cold and the flashing lightning…well, the unadventurous burglar was more than ready to throw in his handkerchief. It took a long while of feeling around in the dark to gather his things, his fingers ghosting blindly over cold rocks and sleeping dwarfs, but eventually he managed to gather his few belongings. The dwarves could sleep the night away if they wanted to but Bilbo was going home. The odd little wolf-woman had seen fit to give him opportunity to do so and he was no longer wont to waste it.

It was only after Bilbo had stood and got his feet settled steadily beneath him that all manner of hell and misfortune broke loose once again. He had only just gathered his nerve to leave Thorin and Co. behind so that he could return with the assistance of his map to the unadventurous safety of the Shire when the floor of the cave began to shake. It shook much like the mountain had when the giants had started up earlier, only this time the danger was much smaller in stature. As if the trembling floor was not bad enough, creatures –pale, warty creatures – began to filter in by the dozens before Bilbo could say "Sackville-Bagginses." From when and where they had appeared, Bilbo hadn't the foggiest, nor did he entirely care, too busy was he sounding the alarm to the dwarves.

"Up! Up! All of you!" Bilbo hollered. "Goblins have come!"

If orcs and wargs were ugly, the hobbit quickly assessed that goblins were their less fortunate cousins. Like a horrible venereal disease, the creatures erupted from every crack and crevice, falling up the drowsy dwarves with a vengeance. Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin all issued cries but the sound was lost amidst the goblin noise. Bilbo was thrown back against the nearest wall all of a sudden and was promptly squished between a rock and the hard, leather-clad back of Kili. The young dwarf was trying to reach for the sword at his side all while keeping one hand pressed back square in Bilbo's face.

"Stay back against the wall, burglar!" the heir of Durin commanded with surprising fierceness, "The floor is going to –"

The trapped floor took its cue a moment too early and it so happened that being flat against the wall did Bilbo little good. Kili went down into the newly appeared pit with a squeal that might have been funny had his hand not caught in Bilbo's jacket and pulled the hobbit down after him. So it was that thirteen dwarves and a hobbit spiraled down, all crying out to ancestors and spirits and issuing curses as they plummeted nearer to a most undesirable demise.

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**Hope ya'll enjoyed it! Let me know what you think. ****Also, any dialogue you recognize in this chapter is from Tolkien's _The Hobbit_. I thought the stone giants chapter was particularly clever and I decided to include parts of Tolkien's original work. Because let's face it, it doesn't get any better. I don't own any of his original material (and all the usual disclaimers).**

**The goblin song is mine, though it is based off of one that Tolkien included. Singing goblins are way scarier than their less vocal counterparts. **


	12. Chapter 12

**_Hope ya'll enjoy! This was my favorite chapter yet to write because it involves my favorite chapter of Tolkien's The Hobbit. Anyway, I should probably mention that parts of this chapter are closely based on the book because there was absolutely NO WAY I could leave out parts of it and live with myself. Any characters and words you recognize belong to Tolkien and whoever else might take offence. Orla is the only thing in this story that is my own._**

**_Also, two author's notes. I apologize for their length:_**

_1) Alright, I did a slight **REWRITE **on chapter 10. The bit about Orla being sterile was bothering me the more I thought about it. I did not like the way that comment fit with Tolkien's lore regarding the Beornings, so I have decided to change it. For your convenience, I have posted the revised paragraph at the end of the chapter. There is no need to reread the entirety of Chap 10, as it was just this one fact that changed._

_2) Feel free to skip this one if it doesn't interest you. Several people have brought up the matter of Estel's age. I'm going to blow your minds with my crazy math skills while I try to explain this:_

_Ok, most everyone comes down on one side of this fence. From what I've read, Aragorn was born in 2931 and was under Elrond's care after 2933. The Hobbit's events take place in 2941, making him ten. If the LoTR takes place around 3017-18, that puts him at 87. That's the timeline by numbers. That being said, the **main discrepancy is that the LoTR takes place at a generally acknowledged 60 years before the Hobbit**. What people don't realize, unless they're gigantic Tolkien nerds like me, is that the early events in LoTR (when we see Bilbo's 111th b-day) party takes place in 3001 (60 yrs after the Hobbit). The main events in the LoTR take place when Frodo leaves the Shire some 16-17 years later._

_As such, if you aren't aware of this 3001/3017 fact, and you subtract 60 from Aragorn's accepted 87, that puts him in his twenties during the dwarves' visit to Rivendell. I blame PJ, given that his first LoTR film condenses Tolkien's timeline of 16-17 years into, say, one night. I hope this was helpful to any of you who were writing your own stories and were uncertain about Aragorn's age. Either is correct, it just depends on whether you want to accept movie or book –verse. I hope this helps some of you, particularly those who are writing your own LoTR/Hobbit stories and are incorporating Aragorn/Estel into it. Also, big thanks to reviewer SarcasticEnigma who brought this to my attention. If anyone ever notices something I've missed regarding lore, please don't be afraid to tell me about it!_

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It was during one of those rare instances when Orla's temper got the better of her that she finally decided she had been poked and prodded enough for one evening. Nearly a dozen goblins had grabbed her and were holding fast to her arms and back, their sharp claws digging and pinching in all the wrong places. She smelled the coppery tang as soon as it hit the air in the moment they drew blood – her blood – and it very near sent her over the edge knowing that such vile creatures had marked her.

They bit, teeth clacking like silverware, and they howled each time one of them managed to sink its teeth into Orla's flesh. Her mithril shirt kept most of the damage to a minimum so that bruises were left instead of scratches. But when one sharp mouth came down hard against the plush flesh of her cheek, Orla finally lost her nerve and cried out. Her voice broke beyond its range as her back twisted and arched within the goblins' grips.

Though few beings had ever witnessed her during an onset of her temper it seemed likely that the goblins were soon to get such a chance. Like her father, Orla had the propensity to become viciously protective over certain things should she be pushed too far, just as she had been when the dwarves had been attacked on the plains near Imladris. It came with the animal temperament, she supposed. When fear had set it and her wolf blood had set to pumping like fire in her veins with the need to escape, there was little she could do to fight it. Like any wolf afraid of being caged, Orla began to struggle against her captors.

With a growl, Orla lashed out with one of her feet at a nearby goblin and it squealed frightfully, loosing its hold on her. Quivering, the creature darted back and scrabbled halfway up the wall before shrieking back at the woman who had attacked it.

"Kill it! Mean it is!" the goblin cried and all around its cronies cackled.

Free from one goblin's grip, Orla managed to jerk one arm free. Her muscles tensed and she struck the nearest monster to drive him back. On instinct, she reached down and snatched loose Estel's gift from her boot. At first she thought she had missed it, its weight was so light, but her fingers closed around the grip of the blade and relief filled her. The relief all too soon gave way to renewed anger and she whirled around blindly, blade in hand.

She swung for the first thing she could reach – the goblin she had struck with her hand moments before. It was a messy, unpracticed swing but the little Elvish blade slammed straight into the creature's exposed throat just the same. Orla's eyes grew round with disgust as she felt the puncture and give of flesh; it was a foreign sensation to her. She had skinned many an animal and bitten into meat and bone as a wolf but the feel of the blade as it sunk into living flesh was sickening for one such as her. Her hate for the creatures was not enough to prevent her stomach from tilting as bile rose within the hoarse confines of her throat. Only fear and adrenaline pushed back her rising horror as she snatched the blade free in a spray of black blood.

Orla was so unused to the handling of a blade in combat that her trembling hand let the little knife slip down. Its blood-slick edge went slicing through her palm as if the skin had been butter. This time she had only herself to blame for the drawing of her blood. Shaking her head in panic and pain, she grit her teeth and tightened her grip on the blade once more.

All around her the cries of goblins went up, their voices rising in a frenzy of promised retribution. Their songs had ceased and were replaced with curses, all of which were directed solely at Orla, who had since stumbled back. Hand over foot she scrambled away, breath ragged and heart racing. She was quick but angry goblins were quicker.

The tunnel she had been dragged into was one of hundreds that zig-zagged through the inner mountain. The ceiling was only half her height above her head and hardly two shoulder widths wide. The close-quarters turned out to be a small miracle to her benefit as she rushed to put distance between herself and the goblins. In their frenzy, they had all managed to gang up on one another, each snapping its jaws and raking its claws for a chance at her. Orla had seen the great waves that dashed upon the shoreline far to the west and amid her panic the thought struck her that the goblins looked just like one of those waves as they clambered over each other only to be rolled under and trampled on by those behind them. Whatever tactic they were employing did them no favors and only slowed them down as Orla sprinted away.

Through the darkness she ran, fingers tracing along the wall to help guide her through the maze-like tunnel. Behind her the goblin shouts grew louder with their frustration and she feared that the shear noise of it all might bring the rocks down atop her head. Regardless, she dared not stop. She ran until she thought her legs might crumble beneath her and her head might explode from the blood that was throbbing painfully in her ears. And even when the heavy air of the tunnels became so thick she thought she could not take one more breath, she still ran. With the smell of sulfur and iron gripping at her lungs, Orla stumbled through the black hole that stretched on endlessly before and behind her.

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* * *

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There were no goblins.

There were no dwarves.

There wasn't any light either.

In short, Bilbo was almost certain that he was dead. For a long while the hobbit just lay flat on his back and looked up at the coal dark sky above him. There were no stars, no moon. In a way, he was disappointed; he had always thought there would a bright, shining sky wherever he was meant to end up, the sort of sky that the elves sing about. But no, instead it was cold and dank and felt awfully similar to a cave.

Something soft and spongy lay beneath him and he was grateful that he had that much, at least. It would do for a little while, though perhaps not for eternity. _Yes_, Bilbo thought to himself_, I'll have to see about that. And that confusticated dripping noise! That won't do at all! Not if I have to listen to it through the ages_. He thought that maybe if he wished hard enough that the dripping might stop but when it continued he came to the conclusion that he would just have to go see about it himself. Could he move? He wondered about that suddenly. He had not even tried since he'd woken up dead.

So, Bilbo mustered his resolve and sat up. He very quickly decided then that he was _not_ dead. Dead hobbits did not hurt as badly as he did. Something was jabbing into his gut and he had the appalling idea that it might be one of his ribs. Mumbling in pain, he flexed his fingers gingerly and they, too, felt as if they might pop straight out of the joints and crawl away. His bottom hurt, his legs hurt, his back and shoulders hurt. Everything hurt. Vaguely, he remembered tumbling down a great big hole, well two actually, and they had been nearly back to back. He and the dwarves had slid down into the goblins' trap and then shortly thereafter he had had the rotten luck of falling down a second hole after being separated from the dwarves as they were jostled about between the goblins.

At the very least, he wasn't dead. Bilbo supposed that was a positive. Then again, not being dead meant that he was still alive and stuck somewhere in the forsaken pit of the Misty Mountains _and_ not being near any dwarves meant that he was alone in said pit.

In short, Bilbo came to the conclusion that he was experiencing the worst day of his life. Or perhaps it was night. He really had no idea of knowing.

For a few minutes, he was only brave enough to grope around since he was not quite willing to stand up just yet. In his fingers' exploration of the immediate area, Bilbo discovered two things. First, he thought that the bed he had been lying on was not really a bed at all but was instead a dense patch of mushrooms. Second, he found something more important. His fingers danced blindly over something tiny and solid among the mushroom caps and he went round for a second feel. It was a very lucky thing that he did, as his grip then closed around a little object that felt to his numb fingers to be a ring. It was small and round and the cold of its metal went unnoticed by his chilled digits. Perplexed but too sore to really care, Bilbo shoved the little band of gold into his pocket.

Stalwartly ignoring his aches and pains, Bilbo climbed slowly to his feet. He rubbed at his eyes, grimy fingers scraping muck all over his lids, and when he opened them he was relieved to see that they had adjusted somewhat to the darkness. He still could not see but he could at least make out the varying shades of black and blacker that surrounded him on each side.

There was some light at the end of the tunnel – figuratively, because there was no literal light to be seen at all – for poor Bilbo. Being a hobbit, a fact of which he was proud, meant that he spent more time underground than most any other race in Middle Earth, except for maybe goblins and dwarves, but that was beside the point. Granted, the tunnels Bilbo was used to were considerably more comfortable than the one he was in now. His sense of direction underground had not been lost after his bump on the head, thankfully, and as such he was able to point his hairy hobbit feet in the general direction of what he was desperately hoping to be the way out.

For what felt like long ages and at times mere seconds, Bilbo shuffled through the tight tunnel, going down and back up again as he tried to keep himself routed in one direction. It was through chance that he thought of the sword at his side and of the fact that Gandalf had told him once that it would glow in the dark. "Glow in the dark" was not entirely accurate, Bilbo decided as he drew the little blade from its sheath. It only gave off the faintest of sheens like a candle that had reached the very end of its wick. Still, it was more than he'd had a minute ago and he was pleased to use it to help find his way.

When the dripping sound from earlier had finally grown so loud that Bilbo decided he was right on top it, he finally stopped. Just in time, too, because one step more and he would have stumbled right into the subterranean lake that lay before him. Seeing the glint of the sword's light upon the water, Bilbo grew brave enough to stick the tip of his large toe into the water and then, when he grew even braver, his whole foot. _So, it's a lake after all and not some puddle. No need in knowing that though unless there's a stream leading into it from outside. _He listened hard for a good long while for the sound of running water and eventually decided that there was no such stream. The lake was just a lake.

It was only as he was standing about, wondering helplessly what he was to do, that Bilbo became aware of the hair that was standing straight up on his neck. He'd gotten the same feeling once before when he'd caught one of the Sackville-Bagginses looking in on him from one of his windows. His cousin had spied on him for a long while before Bilbo had ever realized he was there. Now in the cave, Bilbo tried to convince himself that it was just bats or rats that had their ugly eyes on him. It could not be goblins for Sting would have been glowing brighter if they were about.

Indeed, it was not until he received the scare of his life that Bilbo became aware of what, or _who_, was actually watching him there on the lake's edge.

"Bless us and splash us, my precious! What is it? _Gollum, gollum_!"

All too loudly the voice came from nowhere and was spoken right into Bilbo's ear before the hobbit could even think to cry out in surprise. With a terrified howl, Bilbo leapt back until his back was to a boulder and he could retreat no further. Out of the darkness, two huge, pale orbs appeared and in his frightened state, Bilbo realized that they were eyes. They were the big sort, the kind that nasty, crawly things have so that they can see in the dark.

"Who are you?" Bilbo demanded. He swung Sting out directly in front of him so that its tip was pointed right between the lurker's luminous eyes.

"Asked it first, didn't we, precious?" The thing replied back.

Having someone to talk to so suddenly threw poor Bilbo for a loop and he stuttered during his answer. "B-Bilbo Baggins, at your service, though I do hope you don't ask me to do anything. I've lost the way and the dwarves. I don't know where I am and I don't really want to, I just want to know the way out."

An awful coughing sound came from the creature's throat suddenly and went on it bouts of two and three, sounding to Bilbo's ears like g_ollum-gollum._ Shortly after, the thing moved right on along and said to Bilbo, "What's it got in its handses?"

"A sword," Bilbo replied anxiously and he waved the blade about to make sure the creature saw just how close it was.

The creature became very quiet all of a sudden and when he spoke again, he sounded much more polite than he had previously. "Praps we just sits here and talks with it a bit, precious? It likes riddles, praps? Does it, precious? Gollum, gollum!"

Eager to please the creature, since he was not quite sure whether or not it was going to eat him, Bilbo agreed. "You ask first," he suggested when a riddle did not come to his mind quick enough.

Gollum, whose namesake was the awful choking cough he had, asked his riddle and the answer came quick enough to Bilbo's mind. Truthfully, it was an old, well known riddle and he had heard it before but he saw no reason to tell the creature as much.

Gollum appeared displeased with Bilbo's having guessed correctly and his bug like eyes narrowed into brightly glowing slits. His thin lips pursed over his sparse teeth and his nose scrunched up as he pulled an awful face. Bilbo feared that perhaps this game of riddles had not been such a safe idea after all. Gollum croaked a new addendum to the rules and set Bilbo's stomach to churning every which way as a result.

"It must have a competition with us! If precious asks, and it doesn't answer, we eats whole. If it asks us, and we doesn't answer, then we shows it the way out? Yes!"

Bilbo was not foolhardy enough to disagree and nodded his head vigorously. To his relief, a riddle came to mind and he asked it quickly, hoping all the while that this Gollum creature would not answer. Unfortunately, the creature did answer, being very keen on his riddles, and the game went back and forth for some time, Gollum's temper growing all the while.

"Sss, my precious, we thinks it's cheating!"

"No, no!" Bilbo cried, alarmed. "No cheating here. Now, now, it's my turn." Indeed it was, though Bilbo thought he had perhaps lost count of the score somewhere along the way. Desperate to escape the little lake in the cave, Bilbo thought of the most difficult riddle he knew. He had asked it often over tea back in Hobbiton and not once had anyone ever guessed it.

"Alright, here it is," he said, "No legs lay on one leg, two legs sat on three legs, four legs got some."

The answer came in three parts and Bilbo was nearly struck dumb when Gollum came back with all of them, quoting them as simply as if he'd said what was for dinner.

"Fish on the table, man at the table on a stool, the cat got the bones. But we doesn't like bones, do we, precious? Nooo. Does _it_ have bones?" Gollum took a slinking step closer to the hobbit then, his head cocked hungrily to the side. "Well, does it? Is it scrumptious? Is it…juicy?"

Jaw dropping open, Bilbo cried in horror, "Now, wait just a minute! I-It's your turn! Go on, ask."

Thankfully, this distracted Gollum long enough to get his mind off of crunchy, juicy hobbits and a moment later his last riddle came. "This thing all things devours, birds, beasts, trees, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays kings, ruins towns, and beats high mountains down."

Bilbo thought for sure that his time was over. He had no idea. He though as hard as he could with Gollum's threats whispering in his ear all the while. The answer only just came to him in time. "Time!" he shouted, "Time!"

He might as well have kicked Gollum for all the good it got him because the foul little creature gave a great cry upon hearing his answer and dashed round in circles, beating his hands against rock and self.

"You must show me the way out –" Bilbo started. He had a mind to raise his blade up again just in case.

"No! One more," Gollum growled through clenched teeth. Suddenly, it was if Bilbo were looking back at a completely different creature. Gollum had changed so swiftly, so suddenly that it had been like blowing out a candle, light to dark in an instant. Bilbo knew then that he had to go. Even if he won this game of riddles, he doubted very much that the creature in front of him would hold to its end of the bargain. Backing away, Bilbo thought of the first thing he could.

"What have I got in my pocket?"

"Handses!"

"Wrong."

With another snarl, Gollum tried again. "Knife!"

"Guess again!" Bilbo was steadily backing away and had managed by this time to put some distance between himself and the creature that was probably going to eat him sooner rather than later if he did not escape. Hissing and sputtering, Gollum danced around, tossing rocks and fish bones and anything else he could get his hands on. _Yes, _Bilbo thought, _it is most definitely time to go. _"A-are you looking for something? Come now," he coaxed, "You can look after the game."

Just as he had this thought, Gollum ceased his tantrum and went stock still. His arms and legs no longer flailed. His hissing had stopped. Bilbo thought that the mad creature had even stopped breathing.

"How," spat the creature, "How's it know we's looking for something, precious? Why's it ask us? Gollum, gollum! Knows what we're looking for, it does. We bets it does!"

With a loud whoop, Gollum leapt at Bilbo and came down just in front of him. "What's the matter?" Bilbo asked as he stumbled away. "Have you lost something?"

"Not its business! Tells us, what's it got in its pocketses?"

Without thinking of how it was exactly the wrong thing to do, Bilbo drove his hands into his pockets nervously. He had all but forgotten about the little ring he had stuck in there until he had asked his riddle. Now he thought he would have been better off thinking of a different one.

"Tells us!" Gollum shrieked. A boney white hand lashed out at Bilbo and the hobbit was just quick enough on his feet to miss it. Forgetting all about riddles and politely asking the way out, Bilbo scrambled away and up the nearest cropping of rocks.

It was completely accidental, perhaps he did it on instinct, but either way, Bilbo slipped the little gold band onto his finger as he went. It was like being sucked into the eye of a tornado when he did. The world around him faded of all color – not that there had been much there in the cave to begin with – and all around him swirled the rocks and stones, all twisting and mixing like watercolors on canvas.

What had happened, Bilbo dared not stop to ponder for an ear-splitting cry went up behind him as Gollum lurched forward again. He screamed and screamed, whirling in circles as his skeletal fists pounded the dark ground.

Bilbo could only sit back and watch with wonder as to why the creature did not just come at him. It was only a passing thought that it was as if he were invisible. _But that must be it_, Bilbo thought. Twisting the ring on his finger, he sat in awe of it until he saw Gollum dash by on all fours. The creature ran to the far side of the cavern and then disappeared from sight.

Bilbo followed suit, realizing that Gollum had likely assumed that he had escaped that way with his precious. It was a long chase, filled with twists and turns. Sometimes Bilbo could only guess Gollum's path by following the sounds of his hateful shrieks. He just did catch sight of the creature's pale foot as it disappeared around a corner and after him he went.

After a few turns and many a roundabout, the air finally began to grow fresher. It was like breathing in honey and roses to Bilbo's lungs, which were undoubtedly caked in a thick layer of dust and choked with the worst sort of mountain air. Gollum was leading him out, he realized. _And to think! I didn't even win the game. _Though it was invisible, a smile crept onto Bilbo's face as he padded through the tunnel after Gollum.

Up ahead a fork appeared in the tunnel, its branches going off in opposite directions. Problem was, Gollum's cries had ceased for the time being and Bilbo had no earthly idea which way he was supposed to go.

Since there was no one around to hear, he said aloud, "Oh, bother it all!"

Stopping there in the middle of the path, he looked about. He wished he had a sign or a map or dwarves or a wizard or even Gollum. Anything would do. He was in the middle of deducing which path would be the best choice when her heard footsteps coming at him from the tunnel on the right. Fear gripped him hard and fast in its clutches and his chest grew tight as he realized he had nowhere to hide. Then he remembered that he was invisible and settled right back down accordingly.

The person that came into view was not at all who he had expected. A fair but dirtied head appeared through the darkness first and soon after Bilbo saw a bloodied face he had not expected to see again. It was Orla and she looked hurt and exhausted, her steps mere staggers compared to the grace he had seen her walk with several days earlier.

He opened his mouth to call out to her but she had already stopped. She lifted her head and greasy locks of dull gold spilled into her face only to be wiped lazily away with a dingy hand. Bilbo saw her little nose narrow and then flare with the intake and exhale of a breath. She did it again and then once more. He wondered what she was doing and then the idea struck him that she was part wolf, or some portion wolf. _She smells me_, he thought with wonder. Somewhat woefully he glanced at his dirty clothes and skin and decided that it was no wonder she could smell him. _He_ could smell him.

Not wishing to strain the tired woman's senses further, Bilbo tugged off the ring. His lack of visibility was remedied immediately and the grayscale color palette of the tunnels returned once more. Orla leapt back in voiceless alarm, her eyes and mouth opened wide as she stared at what had just appeared in front of her.

"Orla!" Bilbo chirped with as much cheer as was possible at the moment. "I'm so glad to see you! There's this awful creature running around and I can't find the dwarves or Gandalf and the way out is a complete mystery and –"

His words were cut short as he felt himself being snatched forward and wrapped up in a great, lung-clenching hug. Though she said nothing, Orla held him fast, twisting him this way and that so fiercely he thought they both might fall over from it. Since she was not that tall, even for a woman of Men, Bilbo's head just did reach midway between her elbow and shoulder, a height which made the hug somewhat awkward for him. She patted his head and cooed wordlessly against his hair and all in all he decided she was as happy to see him as he was her.

Stepping away, he whispered, "Did those awful things catch you, too?"

Orla nodded, her head bobbing up and down quickly.

"Have you seen the dwarves?"

The woman shook her head but pointed to her nose.

"You've tracked them then? Have they been this way? Can you –"

Brushing off his questions, Orla took his hand and decided to show him instead. She led him along and though her elation had left her rejuvenated, she was still moving too slowly for Bilbo's liking. They took the left hand path in the fork. Seeing as how she had come down the right hand tunnel, Bilbo assumed that it did not lead out.

"The air is getting fresher, can you smell it? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you can."

Indeed, the air was another motivator for them as they hurried as fast as their weary feet could carry them. Not long after, they both rounded a corner and laid eyes on the most glorious sight either of them had seen in recent memory – the mouth of the tunnel. Light from outside shown inward and its dusky rays hurt their eyes but neither of them wished to even blink, too afraid that if they did the way might disappear. The scent of pine and wind swept in, filling their noses and lungs better than the smell of warm biscuits on a Sunday morning.

With a sigh of well deserved relief, Bilbo started to say, "We should –"

"_Thiefffff_! Baggins!" The shriek broke the calm air with the shrillness of someone clashing cymbals in a sleeping man's ear.

Orla's alarm was written all over her face as her brows rocketed up into her hairline. She moved to snatch Bilbo behind her but he tugged his hand free and earned himself a fierce look in response.

_What is that?_ Her brows had come back down only to pinch together as she tried to sort out the source of the cry. She looked to Bilbo and he answered her truthfully, "I don't know what he is."

"We hates it! We hates it forever!" The shouting was growing nearer as if Gollum was headed back toward the exit of the mountain. Somehow, someway, he had wound up behind them.

Bilbo watched as Orla shrugged off something oblong and narrow from her shoulders – a bow, he soon realized – and she passed it off to him. A quiver full of arrows and then a gory little dagger soon followed. She slipped them over his shoulders and into his belt quick as she could, leaving little room for argument.

Free of her weapons, Orla put a firm hand on Bilbo's back and urged him forward. _Go! Run!_

Without a word of protest, Bilbo turned and hurried forward. There was a great rush of air from behind him and when he glanced back Orla was gone and instead there sat a wolf, its tawny fur matted and stained with blood. Bilbo would not have believed it, _should not_ have believed it, if he had not figured out already that the little woman could do such a thing. There was little time to think of such things at the moment, however, and Bilbo did his best to embrace his Took heritage for the time being. The Baggins' practicality could come later.

With Orla shielding him from behind, Bilbo sprinted forward, tumbling head over heels into the sunlight and heaving huge breaths of fresh air and dirt as he went.

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**Very Orla/Bilbo centric chapter but I preferred Bilbo's encounter with Gollum to the Dwarves' escape from the goblins. Writer's prerogative! Next chapter is ready and waiting in the wings! **

**Chapter 10 rewrite:**

_*In case you don't remember, this takes place as Estel is helping Orla pack her bags before leaving Rivendell. _

_"For a long moment she was content to allow herself the joy of watching the child. An uncomfortable ping of something long forgotten lodged between her throat and heart – regret, perhaps, but she did not care to acknowledge it. Estel was looking over at her sadly and she matched his gaze with her own. Her shoulders pulled low of their own accord, drooping as if weighed down by the moody air in the room. It was not long before Orla had to look away from the child she would miss so much, the one that reminded her of safety and home and of better days left behind her. She supposed, in a way, her affection for Estel stemmed partly from an innate child-longing. That and perhaps the admiration she held in his innocence."_


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks for your support and for sticking with me!**

***Rewritten as of 5/9***

**I'm still not satisfied with this chapter but it's better than it was. Hope you enjoy it all the same!**

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Thirteen dwarves and wizard were gathered on the side of a mountain. Kili thought it sounded like the start of one of Bofur's bad jokes but it was true. The entire motley group had erupted from the mouth of the tunnels and spilled into the open air of the wooded mountainside not fifteen minutes earlier. They were all breathing heavily, most of their barrel chests rising up and down in synchronized huffs. Sweat covered their brows and goblin blood soaked their clothes but not a one of them cared.

They had escaped. The Goblin King was dead.

And so was their hobbit.

Kili's head sagged between his shoulders at the thought. The halfling had disappeared right after the goblins had rounded them up. Kili had tried to do what he could but it had been to no avail after they had gone down that accursed slide when the floor had fallen through the night before. Even Thorin was looking downcast. Instead of being held square, the future King Under the Mountain's shoulders drooped low and in his face his nephew saw every bitter year that he had lived.

Gandalf stood nearby and suddenly he did not seem nearly as tall as Kili remembered him being. His back was hunched and his eyes hidden behind the shadow of his hat. When he had appeared in a flash of brilliant light in Goblin Town, Kili had thought him a hero, a force to be reckoned with. Now, he just looked like an old man, tired and out of answers.

"He can't really be gone," Bombur said of Bilbo when his breathing had evened some.

"I saw him slip away," Nori offered hopefully, "He's so small I don't think the goblins even noticed him."

Kili felt some hope at hearing Nori's words. "Maybe he's alive," the young dwarf said.

All it did was earn him a hard glare from his uncle, who no doubt was of the opinion that his nephew's naiveté was showing through. "Even if he is, do you think the fool is going to escape the horde in those mountains?"

Though Kili was not brave enough to argue, Gandalf dared to speak up in his stead. "He is no fool! He is my friend and I feel responsible for him. I wish to goodness that you had not lost him."

Thorin shook his head. "He's been more trouble than use so far. I will not risk these dwarves to go back for him."

"I do not bring useless things on journeys such as this one!" Gandalf snapped back, his voice growing loud so that it seemed to shake even the leaves in the trees. "If you do not go and recover what you have lost, Thorin, then I dare say I will leave you alone to your own devices on the side of this mountain!"

Thorin's head shot up and his shoulders finally found their strength so that they squared on the wizard. "He is of no use! We will find a new burglar, a better one, if we have to."

"There is nothing wrong with the burglar you lost!" Gandalf argued, shaking his hand angrily and pointing his walking stick back up the mountain.

Fili stepped forward and his brother moved to draw him back out of the fray but the older dwarf shook him off. "Now listen here!" Fili began in brave protest, "Between the goblins and the running and the fighting, we hardly had time to look for our missing burg –"

"He's not missing," Kili interrupted suddenly. He had by chance glanced back up the mountain just in time to see the burglar in question headed straight for them, and with some pep in his step at that. Bilbo was striding purposely toward them and further behind him loped someone Kili had not thought to ever see again.

"What?" All the dwarves and Gandalf looked up in unison.

"Well, what d'ya know? Mr. Baggins! Nice of you to join us!" Bofur shouted happily, clapping his hands together in joy at seeing the little hobbit.

"Here I am!" Bilbo cried. He hurried on down to them and passed them all to go straight to Gandalf, who clapped the halfling on the shoulder so hard it nearly knocked Bilbo to the ground.

"Look who I found, Gandalf," he said, turning to point at the wolf who had trailed behind him all the way through the group of dwarves. Though her light brandy colored fur was smeared with blood and matted with dirt that did not stop her from sitting demurely in front of the wizard.

"My dear!" Gandalf remarked with surprise. Reaching down to run a hand through the dingy fur behind the wolf's ears, he whispered, "Don't you know you're headed in the wrong direction from Forochel?"

She gave a loud huff and cut her eyes to the hobbit in silent explanation.

Nearby, behind the rest of the dwarves, Kili was steadily shaking his head. The hobbit's arrival he could be believe – it was stretch but the burglar had the potential. But the wolf? No, Kili was not quite certain he had not been imagining things when he saw her. Ever since leaving Rivendell, he had tried and partially managed to put the heroic animal out of his mind. There had been a time or two back in the Goblin Town when he had caught himself wishing for the wolf's keen jaws but those thoughts had been fleeting in the moment. He had all but given up on the creature's survival, having received no solid evidence to prove otherwise besides the too-eager words of the elves. He glanced around, eyes flitting from one face to another to find that the rest of his companions were as puzzled by the hobbit's appearance with the creature as he was.

Thorin in particular seemed perplexed by the new arrivals. Though his eyes were wide in with disbelief – not to mention mildly impressed – at the hobbit's survival, there was still the cold flash of suspicion in their depths as he took in the wolf's unexpected return to the party. If Thorin had been assured of the wolf's allegiance to them after her sacrifice on the plains, he certainly did not know what to make of her sudden reappearance. Kili could see the wheels of thought turning behind his uncle's eyes but as he was unable to sort out his own thoughts at the moment, he could hardly expect to decipher what Thorin was thinking as well.

Nearby, the halfling's words came out in an excited flurry and he only just managed to catch himself before calling the wolf by name. "Orl – I mean, she got snatched by the goblins. She found me by chance as I was searching for a way out."

Neither Gandalf nor the wolf had any time to respond before there came a shuffle from the back of the gathered dwarves. The youngest of them had pushed his way to the front, as had his uncle. Several attempts at voicing his disbelief came sputtering from Kili's lips as he looked to the wolf. His dark eyes had grown wide in disbelief and he wavered where he stood, head cocked in unbelieving puzzlement. Even Thorin appeared surprised, one eye brow cocked thoughtfully at the wolf's appearance.

Gandalf's previously somber eyes were twinkling with an odd mix of amusement and relief. He chuckled at the dwarves and their obvious – but understandable – surprise. Looking down at the wolf, who had made it a point to keep her back to the dwarves as she was no doubt unwilling to face them just yet, Gandalf said to her, "I do believe you have some explaining to do, my friend."

"_You_!" Kili croaked suddenly, his voice pitched high in his surprise.

The wolf chuffed noisily and shut her eyes for a long moment before looking pitifully to Bilbo and the wizard for aid. It was no use, not that Gandalf would have helped her then and Bilbo did not have the chance, for Kili continued, having found his words at last. Striding forward, an accusing finger jabbing at the wolf with every step, Kili cried, "You mutt! I was worried about you, you miserable dog! And look at you! You're fine! No worse for the wear considering how we left you."

The young dwarf came to halting stop inches from the wolf. She was looking up at him through eyes so disturbingly unamused they were hardly canine. In the short weeks since he had last seen her, Kili had not forgotten how sharp those eyes were. Another face came to his mind's eye then upon noticing their familiarity, one that was girlish and sweet, but he shook the impossible idea away. With the wolf's gaze refusing to waver from his, it seemed that they were at an impasse.

Finally, the short-lived stalemate was ended when the wolf gave a loud and seemingly apologetic whine before nosing her snout under Kili's palm. Like a child with a troublesome puppy, all was quickly forgiven and forgotten. Though it was late in coming, the first smile of the day crept up at the corners of Kili's lips as he ran his hands all over the wolf's head and down to the soft but dirty fur of her neck.

The reunion was short lived as Thorin stepped forward, though just about everyone present did notice that the dwarf prince's hand did sneak discreetly over to stroke the wolf's muzzle once.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked her directly. It was about as much respect as an animal could garner from one such as Thorin. Instead of waiting for an answer that he knew would not come, he turned to Gandalf.

"I thought you said she was no pet of yours but it seems she follows you just the same."

The wizard gave a roll of his shoulders and tilted his face so as to look up into the sky rather than at Thorin. "I doubt she meant to come this way. But perhaps that is a question better left to her." The old Maiar gave a pointed look at the wolf, whose eyes had found a particular interest in her own paws.

Bilbo nudged her softly and gave her a fond pat on the back. He then looked over at Thorin and explained, "As I said, the goblins caught her. She escaped them and must have caught our scent in the tunnels."

"What would goblins want with a wolf?" Thorin inquired, his voice laced with a distinct note of doubt.

It was a point that left the hobbit groping for an excuse. When he came up with nothing, he took another path instead. "Well, it doesn't much matter now, does it? Orl – er, the wolf is here, I'm here, and so is Gandalf. We're a company again."

"The lad makes a good point, Thorin," Balin called from nearby. "I for one am glad to have the beast back."

"Aye," Gloin agreed, "as good a nanny as you could ask for."

"Nanny!" Kili protested. Even Bilbo winced in offence as the red-haired dwarf's good natured jab.

With the dwarves in agreement, it appeared that they could all continue on. Night would be falling soon and the mountain side was no place for them to wander. With Kili reluctant to leave the wolf's side, Bilbo was left to walk beside him, which in turn meant that he was too near Thorin to escape any further scrutiny. Just as they were all readying themselves to move on, everyone stopped once more when they heard Thorin call to the halfling, "Just a moment, burglar."

Bilbo froze, wondering to himself what he could have possibly done in the short time he had been back. It was not until Thorin's hand reached to Bilbo's shoulder to tug at the string that had been slipped diagonally across the hobbit's chest. The hobbit went a paler shade of white all of a sudden, remembering the bow and quiver on his back. The bow was nearly his height, so how he had forgotten about it with it clunking at his heels, he did not know. But Thorin's keen eyes had noticed when others had not, so distracted were they by the hobbit's return.

"Where did you get this?" Thorin asked curiously, thumbing the bow as he reached past Bilbo's head.

All around, the dwarves watched as Bilbo floundered, looking to Gandalf and then to the wolf. But the wolf had moved on, slinking away from his side to a point several yards away. She was looking back up the mountain, ears perked forward as she listened for something unheard by the rest.

"That's a fine bow," Kili remarked, "But it's of Elvish make. Goblins wouldn't have that sort of thing, would they, Uncle?"

Thorin shook his head and said lowly, "No, they would not."

A fine sweat had broken out over Bilbo's brow and even Gandalf had begun to notice. In an effort to protect the little hobbit, who was looking more and more panicked with each passing moment beneath Thorin's stare, the old wizard suggested helpfully, "Our burglar is a remarkably lucky one. Perhaps he found the weapons."

Bilbo nodded his head too vigorously to be convincing.

"Or perhaps not," Thorin grumbled.

He removed his hand from the bow a moment later but not before eyeing the hobbit so peculiarly that Bilbo, who was not so very good under such pressure, could not keep himself from glancing involuntarily at the wolf. The split second Bilbo's eyes lingered on the wolf's form proved to be enough for Thorin, as the dark of his eyes grew keener and flashed in the fading light. His brow pulled low but by some miracle he said nothing further to the hobbit.

Bilbo took a big gulp, feeling as if he was swallowing rocks, and he cut his gaze over to Gandalf. The wizard pursed his lips and shook his head before he, too, turned away.

The others had not made it far from Bilbo when they heard the first bout of growls cut through the quiet and quickly dimming evening. Nearby, the wolf's hackles rose, knotting up around her shoulders as fierce as anything Bilbo had ever seen. Not one among the company had time to question her sudden hostility as her head pitched back and she gave a great, bellowing howl of warning. A few short moments later and a chorus of howled responses rolled down from higher up the mountainside. Those howls had been deeper, more feral, and when the dwarves heard the sounds they did not hesitate a second longer before breaking into a run.

The wolf whirled about and with just a few lopes she was by Bilbo's side, nipping at his heels and nudging him after the group. The hobbit understood her urgency soon enough and moments later he was sprinting after the others, the wolf by his side with each step. Curses flew up from several mouths as the dwarves hurried away and it seemed that their rotten luck had returned full force.

It was Thorin who summed up the feeling best when he growled, "Out of the frying pan and into fire!" Sure enough, it was not long before the unlucky group came to the edge of the cliff and they were confronted with the unpleasant prospect of having no more mountain to flee down. The only options left were to either climb or jump and seeing as how dwarves were not best known for flight, the answer to their predicament was clear.

Gandalf shouted to them all, "Up into the trees!"

A few of the dwarves made to argue but whether they were silenced by their own breathlessness or the sight of the sheer cliff appearing before them, one would be hard pressed to tell. A few of the stronger dwarves braced themselves alongside the bases of the tallest and nearest trees so that they could boost up the others. The most agile of them scaled to the lowest branches before turning back to help their comrades. Fear was a powerful motivator and as such thirteen dwarves and a wizard were soon scattered about in three or four trees.

The hobbit, quick though he was, arrived seconds too late to get a boost up and was left to weave from tree to tree, searching for the lowest branch he could find. Gibbering and cursing his rotten luck, he hopped around at the base of a tall pine, grabbing for the hands that dangled down to try and catch him. All the while, the wolf keened and whined beside him, begging him to hurry.

"I can't reach you!" Bilbo cried as he just barely missed Dwalin's and Balin's hands.

"Jump, Master Baggins!" Balin shouted, more fretful than anyone had heard sound him before. "The wargs will be on you soon!"

Dwalin seconded the sentiment, growling, "I'll come down there and get you if you make me, burglar!"

Several trees away, the youngest of the dwarves was fretting for an entirely different reason. Kili's thoughts were for the wolf that had saved him rather than the hobbit, who at least had some hope of climbing out of the wargs' reach. His voice loud over the growing ruckus, he called out, "Run! Bilbo, tell her she must run –"

His pleas made no difference as their sound was drowned out with a new chorus of screeches and howls. The wargs and their riders were nearer now and Bilbo was still stuck on the ground, sure as ever to be eaten within the next minute or two.

The wolf whined louder and looked up at the hobbit through wild silver eyes. It was then that Bilbo saw the shadow of the human in her eyes, their grey depths too fearful and pleading to be mistaken for those of an animal.

"I can make it!" Bilbo said to her, determined, and he leapt again for Dwalin's outstretched hand. Once again, he missed. With a frustrated shout, he whirled to face the wolf. "Go! Please, go!" he begged her, shooing his arms at her. "You must!"

The stubborn animal would not budge from his side.

Grumbling and cursing, Dwalin had watched the pitiful show long enough and he moved to swing down from the safety of his tree limb, for he had glanced up through the trees to see the wave of wargs charging furiously toward them. It was as Balin had said, they would be there soon.

He had not moved far at all before he stilled as there came a soft rush of air into his face, just enough to blow at his beard. He and Balin both blinked against the little gust and when they had opened their eyes again, Bilbo was being shoved into their grasping hands. A pair of slender, pale arms had wrapped around the hobbit's waist and had lifted him up off the ground high enough to reach the lowest branch.

Orla passed him off, stumbling back as Bilbo's kicking legs nearly struck her. She hit the ground with a hard thud and when she looked up their were thirteen pairs of wide eyes staring back at her.

All around, cries of disbelief went up. Dwarven voices carried into the air, their shouts louder than the howls of the approaching wargs.

"It can't be!" one of them cried.

"Impossible!" shouted another.

The sounds of surprise and fear rose up, ringing in Orla's ears as they continued to drum with her heart beat.

"Trickster! Beast!"

"Durin bless me!"

Orla dared not linger on the ground long enough to listen to the accusations being tossed at her. Instead, with a grunt of strain, she went to leap for the branch above her head. A few painfully long inches kept her from making it. Her muscles protested when she landed on her feet once more, the tissue suddenly recalling the hours spent stumbling through the darkness of the mountain. She leapt again and this time her fingers caught a flimsy hold on the branch. Her arms ached though, too tired to hold her weight. Any other day she could have climbed trees with the skill of any ranger of the Du̒nedain. Today though, her body was her undoing, its strain and exhaustion pressing down on her like solid weight.

Bilbo was reaching for her moments later, his small hands closing around one of her wrists as he pulled at her. "Help her," he cried as he tried vainly to pull her up, "I cannot lift her! Somebody help her, please!"

"Get away from that creature, fool!" Dwalin growled from the limb above the hobbit.

Bilbo did not heed him, his small hands still scrabbling to hold onto Orla. Another voice carried over Dwalin's as the dwarf's elder brother shouted, "Durin's beard, brother! Help him with the lass!"

Dwalin, long set in his ways and distrustful of beasts who turned into women, refused to listen.

Finally, Orla could hold herself up no longer. She let go and thumped back down to the ground painfully. Scrabbling to her feet, she looked around for any branches that might prove easier to climb.

"Over here, girl!" Bofur cried, prompting Orla ceased her frantic attempts to reach the hobbit.

At once, she looked to Bilbo and met his eyes, so wide with fear for her, before she jerked one finger at the halfling and urged him to climb higher. Bilbo gulped, swallowing his worry for her, and did she bid.

Too many yards away, Bofur yelled again, "Here!"

Soon Orla was off and sprinting quick as her sore feet would let her for the dwarf's outstretched hand as it dangled down from a nearby pine. She was not a meter from him when a set of stocky arms reached around the miner's shoulders and forcefully drew away his offer of aid. Bifur held his kind-hearted and struggling cousin tight, crying out in furious Khuzdul all the while.

Staggered by the sudden withdrawal of aid, Orla floundered, her swirling thoughts halting with her movements. She considering running, thinking about leaving the dwarves and the wargs behind but she had nowhere to go there on the jutting peak. It was a shear drop should she go over the side of the cliff and she could certainly not go back unless she wanted to run headlong into a pack of wargs and their riders.

"Fools!" She heard Gandalf bellow from the upper branches of his fir tree. "Run, Orla," he called to her, "for they will not help you! Curse them to their blasted stone!"

Orla refused to believe it. Her heart clenched upon seeing the backs that had been turned against her. She searched for the wizard, her mouth agape in the face of a feeling she had not felt in a decade. Only once before had she known betrayal. But that had been long ago and the circumstances had not been so life threatening. It was not so long past, however, for her to forget the feeling. The white hot bitterness she had strove so long to forget came flooding back, coloring her cheeks and tightening her throat. Her jerky, confused movements faltered as she ended her panicked search for help. Where one dwarf shouted for her, two others denounced her. Bilbo screamed for her, his voice shrill with his distress. Had Dwalin not kept hold of the hobbit's coat, the little one would have likely climbed back down.

Orla spun round in one last attempt to spot aid, her eyes wild and searching for anyone who would help her. Her thoughts went to Kili, whom she had not seen or heard since helping Bilbo into the trees. Where was Kili? He would help her; out of them all, he would not forsake her. From just below the wizard's branch, Orla's gaze fell on Fili as the fair dwarf held fast to his younger brother. There was no struggle between the two brothers, no fight to reach her. Even across the distance, Kili's eyes were like those of a man too shell-shocked to move.

_Help me, _she begged him from below the tree, _Kili, dwarf, please! Help me. _

From his perch above, Kili shook his head. A refusal.

The sickening feeling of having been denied flowed over her, numbing her to the very tips of her fingers. It was only by chance that she saw him shake his head again, followed by a third time. Perhaps, though she did not have time to consider it, the gesture had not been a refusal after all but rather a movement to force himself out of his stupor. He had only just begun to struggle within his brother's grip when the loudest of the howls sounded from behind Orla.

It was too late. The wargs were too close.

With a growl, Orla whirled about. Her mind was made up. She would do the only thing she could. She was one of Beorn's folk, raised by her father to be peaceful and gentle. But Beorn had also instilled in her a fierce desire to protect the things she valued. He had taught her to be brave in the face of a world that would judge those like her harshly. Much like Beorn fought for and protected his lands and the creatures under his care, Orla would do the same for the dwarves. When the goblins had come for her on the mountain, she had only herself to defend and that alone had not been enough. To threaten those she sought to protect was a step too far. Her duty to them had ended in Rivendell but, though she doubted there was little she could do to help them now, she would dare to draw blood for them just the same. They would have time to consider their judgment of her later should they make it off of the mountain alive.

She closed her eyes and wished for her form to change.

The air grew thick around her, tightening about her as it did in the moments before the wolf-shape took her. She was on the cusp of shifting when something gripped her from behind. She knew then that she had wavered too long in inaction. The first of the wargs had fallen upon her, its jaws soon to lock into her shoulder with crushing force. But a moment passed and the tearing of flesh did not come. It was fingers rather than teeth that pulled her then, a fist wrapped tight in a ball of hair and leather as it hauled her upwards with a growl of exertion. She gave a shout as her feet left the ground and drew her up to the safety of a branch. As she scrambled to right herself, it was Thorin who looked back at her.

"Climb!" he ordered her, prying himself off his belly as he followed her.

She scaled the limbs as only someone motivated by fear could. Thorin had saved her just in time as the first of the wargs fell on the branches beneath them with a fury. Dwarves cried out all around as each of the trees they had retreated into were shaken by repeated attacks. Orla clung fast to the branch above her head as her feet sought to find balance on the limb below. Such balance proved elusive as the wargs snapped at her toes with hungry mouths. Thorin did not spare her another glance, having turned away from her to shout orders to the other stranded dwarves. He had saved her, repaying her in full for taking the arrow in Kili's stead. If it meant the death of her, Orla decided she would ask no more of the Dwarf prince that night.

As she wobbled unsteadily in the shaking branches of the tree, she spent what precious few calm seconds she had between the wargs' battering attacks to look for Gandalf. The wizard, as she saw when she finally spotted him, had retreated high to the very top limbs the fir he was in. His lips were moving quickly and though Orla heard no sound, she knew that the Grey Wizard was doing everything in his considerable power to save them.

"Higher to the top!" Thorin barked suddenly. Orla dared not dawdle this time and she tightened her grip on the upper branch. With a grunt of strain she started to haul herself up, swinging her feet up to cross her ankles over the limb.

She had only just righted herself once more when she heard someone call over the noise, "I'd heard wolves could climb but I never thought that's what was meant by it!"

It was Bofur who had spoken. At any other time, the comment might have sounded like a joke but given the background noise of howls and the strain in Bofur's voice, it was clear that the observation had been a serious one. The words had no sooner left the miner's mouth when the wargs below his tree set upon it with a fury. It did not take long for them to bring it down. Huge hulking bodies slammed against the bases of all nearly every tree that contained a dwarf. Before long, pines and hardwoods alike were brought down. It was a blessing of nature that the trees had all grown so close together. With each tree that fell, the dwarves that had rested within its branches leapt to catch the next tree's limbs.

Naturally, it was not long after that the tree Orla and Thorin had taken refuge in was suddenly uprooted with one final slam from a large warg against its base. Up and over the big tree toppled with the Future King Under the Mountain and the little shape-shifter caught within its branches. Cries went up all around as Thorin and Orla leapt for closest tree, the one that now held the rest of the company nearest the cliff's edge.

Like falling dominos, the tree fell atop the next. Thorin managed to catch hold of a solid branch, his considerable weight causing it to bend but not quite break, a fact for which he was grateful. Orla, however, was latched tight to the trunk of the new tree, clinging too it like a cat afraid of slipping into a tub. Eager to get something beneath her feet, she stretched out a tentative and searching foot to find the nearest branch. She had only just found one when an unseen arm snaked around her waist and did most of the work for her, pulling her over and righting her.

"I've got you." She heard Kili before she saw him. His arm was gone as soon as he made certain she wouldn't go tumbling down again. Orla found herself grinning gratefully back at him. Despite their current situation, she feared the repulsion that she might find his eyes given the recent revelation. But the young dwarf allowed her fears to pass as quickly as they had come. The look that was there however, promised that he would have a mouthful to say to her later.

She had not long been in the tree, sequestered there with the thirteen dwarves, when she thought to look for the hobbit. Head snapping this way and that, she nearly missed Bilbo altogether until she saw the tips of his hairy toes jutting out from a limb several feet above her head. Reassured that he was safe, Orla began to climb up the distance between them.

"Blasted wargs!" Bilbo grumbled as Orla came to perch beside him. "They'll bring the tree down and we've nowhere left to go except over the edge."

Orla merely nodded her head grimly and fixed her eyes firmly on the hobbit to avoid looking at the cliff face below.

It was not long after that Gandalf managed to buy them some time, setting pinecones aflame with a whisper of magic. The little flaming missiles were pitched down as quickly as they could be lit. The animal in her did not take well to flame and instinctively Orla flinched each time a pinecone flew by her head. Feeling that she had to do something to help, she settled herself so that she straddled the limb and then reached to retrieve her bow and quiver from Bilbo, who had forgotten about the weapons altogether.

"Can you use that, miss?" Dori asked hopefully from nearby. At least that was one more dwarf who did not fear her.

Had she been more inclined to speak, Orla would have responded with a "_meh_," or possibly a "_not very well_." She was a hunter true enough but over the years she had learned to stalk prey silently, tracking them and putting them down the moment their movements stilled long enough to line up her shot. Her skill was self taught and never before had she been forced to use a bow under in such a stressful situation.

Regardless, she shrugged the quiver over her shoulder and, doing her best to keep herself from tipping off the limb, she notched her first arrow. She chose a warg that had managed to avoid the spreading flames and set her sights on the soft patch of fur behind the beast's knarled ear. Drawing in a deep breath to steady herself as best she could amidst the shaking branches, she finally released the arrow. The little Elven barb found its new home in the thick neck of the warg. The shot did not bring him down but it did cause him to give a loud yelp before retreating to his masters…masters who had only just appeared from the shadowed tree line.

Countless orc faces slithered into view amidst the orange glow of flames, their green skin shining a mottled grey color in the firelight. A dwarf - possibly Gloin, Orla thought – called the others attention to the newest arrivals. Their combined dismay grew as a new creature appeared in the center of the howling mass of enemies. Orla did not know of this new orc, the one whose milk-white skin glowed like candle wax in the shadows, but she knew soon enough to fear him when she caught sight of the beast he sat astride. As a child she had heard stories of the White Wolf of Gundabad, chief of those evil wolves that lived in the shadow of the Misty Mountains. Never had she thought she would be unlucky enough to lay eyes on the beast and the thought made her very glad that she had not remained on the ground.

So busy was she in taking in the sight of the white warg that she did not hear Thorin's whispered denial as he saw the pale orc. However, she and everyone else did catch the orc's name as it crossed the prince's lips in the furious cry that followed.

"Azog!"

With a wave of his single remaining hand – where its companion had been lost, Orla did not know – the one called Azog ordered forth a new wave of wargs and all too soon what little hope Thorin and Company had seemed to die away with the flames as they burned to embers.

What happened next occurred entirely too quickly to be avoided. One moment Orla was drawing back her bow and the next the world was falling out from under her. The old fir had finally given way under the onslaught of wargs and with the snapping of roots and the moan of bark, it toppled backwards over the cliff's edge.

Cries of terror ripped forth from nearly every member of the company. Even Orla broke her usual silence. Indeed, she screamed particularly loudly, as she had never been terribly fond of high places. While she was left to dangle, Bilbo had managed to wedge himself into the space between the branch and trunk. Orla's feet danced in mid-air, high above the valley below. Most of the dwarves fared no better…save for Thorin.

The King Under the Mountain stood, hauling himself to his feet with great effort. While Orla could not see his face, she knew the look that must be there as Thorin took the first fearless step forward. There was not a single dwarf among those that remained in the tree that did not issue cries for the leader and king. Even Bilbo shouted as the dwarf prince charged forward, the metallic song of his sword being drawn ringing amongst all their ears.

As great a warrior as Thorin was, something had to be done and every person present knew it. Dwarves, human and hobbit alike scrabbled with their weak grips to pull themselves up but few were successful. Though she herself had lost sight of him, Orla heard the others as they screamed. She heard the awful slam of a body being beaten down and then the sudden quiet as Thorin's battle cry was no more.

Bilbo proved bravest of them all. Before Orla noticed, the hobbit had gotten his bearings and was maneuvering sure-footedly over branch and knot as he moved down the tree trunk. After Bilbo soon followed Thorin's nephews and dearest friends. Dwalin and Balin found their strength and pulled up Bofur and Bifur before charging into the fray.

The rest were left to dangle. Orla's grip was slipping, the strain becoming such that releasing her hold on the limb seemed preferable to retaining it. Beyond her view the hopeless battle raged. To her left, Dori and his brothers, along with Bombur, who was in the most miserable of straits of them all, did not cease their determined effort to partake.

It was Gandlaf who lost his hold first, or so Orla assumed. She saw him fall away from the tree, her mouth snapping open in a disbelieving but silent scream. Instead of her own voice, another cry rose up – one that was too shrill and sharp to be made by any of the Company.

Their rescue had come in the form of the Great Eagles. Never before had Orla been so happy to see one of the enormous birds. She had caught sight of them more than once as a child when they had circled her father's lands but she had never thought to interact with them herself. Gandalf, bless him, had summoned their aid.

They swooped and dived down from the clouds, their cries filling the air between each sword clash. Determined not to risk letting go just to hope that one of the eagles happened to spot her before she splatted flat as a pancake against the ground below, Orla redoubled her efforts to pull herself up. She thought for a moment that her arms would give out despite her wishes. Her muscles burned as if a fire had been lit within them and it felt as if the meat might rend itself right off the bone. Swallowing a cry of strain, she swung her legs up and managed to catch her heels against the solid wood of another limb that jutted out across from her. It took some maneuvering and quite a bit of squirming but she managed to inch her way right side up again.

Sparing no time to catch her breath, she reached for Dori only to find the white haired dwarf shaking his head. His arms had grown tired as well and before Orla could move to grab him, he had let go, his brothers and Bombur following soon after. They each landed safely on the backs of eagles before falling too many hundreds of feet. Even so, they went on screaming until they had disappeared into the clouds.

Her feet were wobbly beneath her as she made her way down the length of the trunk and when solid ground was finally beneath her feet, Orla gave a good long thought to kissing it. The ground was not quite so lucky, as her senses came back to her soon enough and she drew her bow off her shoulders. All around her dwarves clashed with orcs as eagles swooped down and tossed wargs over the mountainside. The least she could do was to fire a few arrows.

Though her arms protested, the draw on the Elvish bow was light enough that she somehow managed it. Two goblins and a young warg fell to her arrows. Bifur almost joined the list as well but Orla quickly determined that was his own fault. The Elvish arrow whizzed past the grizzled dwarf's head and he turned to roar at her in furious khuzdul. That was only seconds before the orc headed right for him had caught the very same arrow with his shoulder. Bifur's shouts were redirected and he finished the wounded orc off with glee.

Out of the thirty-some arrows that had been in her quiver, only six were left. Somehow she doubted that it had been any of those that she had fired that encouraged the wargs and their masters to begin a slow retreat. More than likely it had to do with the battle hungry dwarves who carved their way to a wounded and unmoving king and the eagles who were tossing the orcs that remained over the side of the mountain. Kili and Fili were the first other than Bilbo to reach their uncle's side and all three stood waving for one of the eagles to swoop down and carry Thorin away. One eagle obliged them but the limpness of Thorin's ragged body did nothing to inspire any confidence as he was lifted away from the ending battle.

"Orla!" Bilbo cried. He ran for her, his feet carrying him swiftly over the singed stone and grass. Orla did not give him one moments rest before she was pushing him toward the edge. The dwarves that had not been scooped up in the clutches of eagles were leaping over the edge one after another until only Orla and the hobbit remained. They jumped together and their combined cries ceased at the same moment when each came down on the feathery-soft back of one of the large birds.

With a great huff, Bilbo relaxed long enough to glance back over his shoulder. His fellow rider had her eyes shut tight however, and she did not seem to be under any great pressure to open them until they landed.

With a few beats of the eagle's wings, Bilbo's view of the mountainside was quickly fading from sight, obscured by distance and clouds. He was forced to go on faith that Gandalf, Thorin, and the others had made it away alive.

It seemed that they were safe again for the time being and Bilbo took a moment to ask, "Where are they taking us?"

Orla was silent for a long while and it was not until he turned again that he saw that her eyes had pried themselves open somewhat. Her voice was so quiet that the hobbit barely heard it among the flapping of wings.

"To Gwaihir's eyrie," she murmured, her voice soft against the back of his head.

"Where's that?"

This time Orla gave no answer. Had Bilbo been able to turn round a little further, perhaps he would have noticed the glazed look in her eyes. It was a look that wavered uncertainly on the precipice of dread and longing but fell into neither. Finally, after so long a silence that Bilbo had nearly forgotten the question, Orla spoke again.

"Near home," she whispered.

She said nothing else, falling back into her characteristic silence, and Bilbo knew better than to ask anything else. Better to focus on that rather than consider what lay ahead of them. There would be much to talk about when they landed.

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**Meh...I improved it as best I could thanks to the feedback I received after the original posting. I truly do appreciate the thumbs up I got for it but, while I was not "putting myself down," I know my writing well enough to realize when it is sub-par. Regardless, so long as you all are happy, I've successfully done my job. Again, many many thanks to all of you who reviewed and let me know what you thought!**

**I hope that the dwarves' reactions were satisfactory. When they reach the eagle's eyrie, I solemnly swear to flesh them out. Oh, and I had to include the comment about wolves climbing. Personal joke. One of the biggest issues we had with Cheyenne (our hybrid) for the first few years we had her was that she would scale the six foot fence around the yard. She'd climb trees as well. Not like cats do, I guess, but if the limbs were low enough and spread right, Chey could do it!**

**I have an announcement to make. How should I say this….**

**COMMENCE LE ROMANCE ET FLUFF!**


	14. Chapter 14

_Sorry for the long wait, ya'll. I was in Russia and didn't have my laptop to type anything up. I had hoped to have this up Friday but…when life gives you lemons – well, you get it. Anyway, hope you enjoy this just the same. Again, I apologize that it took forever. All the kind words from the reviews and PMs really surprised me. As always, thanks for the support :) _

_One more thing: Any quotes you may recognize are taken from Tolkien's __**The Hobbit**__ chapter 7. The next few chapters will rely heavily on the book for guidance in an effort to portray Beorn and the eagles correctly. I certainly don't own any of the characters or the ideas. I simply get my kicks jigsawing them together for my own devices._

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The flight to Gwaihir's eyrie may have potentially been an enjoyable one had it not been for several small reasons, which by themselves may have been put temporarily out of mind. Together, however, they combined forces with near headache-inducing strength. First and foremost, physical fatigue had begun to set in not long after being astride the eagles. More than twenty-four long hours spent on one's feet in a state of constant desperation had a peculiar tendency to cause the body some stress. Secondly, the distant sight of Thorin Oakenshield's limp body, held within the clutches of an eagle, sent a wash of unease down each and every companion's backs. Orla in particular owed the future king her gratitude and seeing him wavering between life and death did nothing to abate her nerves. Finally, though Orla acknowledged this was the most selfish of all her reasons, a cold fist had clenched her gut tight in anticipation as she soared over the valley below. In ten long years she had not laid eyes on the Anduin and now its fertile river bottom and rolling hills stretched a mere mile beneath her.

_Perhaps_, Orla wondered_, if it were light I might see the smoke from father's chimney_.

The thought brought on many a memory – some of cool mornings warmed within Beorn's hall and others dull with the ache of recalling the family she had been forced to leave behind. That thought in particular shook her and she jerked so suddenly that Bilbo was nearly roused from his sleep in front of her, having dosed off with his head resting peacefully back on her shoulder. She ignored the ping of familial longing that lodged steadfastly in her belly and instead looked out among the clouds to count the heads of the dwarves that rode nearby.

Fili, Kili, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, Gloin, Oin, Dori, Nori, Ori, Balin, Dwalin, and finally Thorin…they were all accounted for and that placated the young woman somewhat. She would not think of explaining anything to them regarding her own nature. Tending Thorin's many wounds and thanking the eagles would occupy them fully when they reached Gwaihir's home and hopefully there would be little time to address her own issues.

Looking ahead, Orla spotted the great eyrie in the distance. She sighed quietly at the sight of the huge rocks protruding up from the earth below like an ancient and knarled finger extended to point the way to the heavens. Not far beyond it lay the edge of her homeland and she knew that her father's house would be tucked away in the expanse of trees and pastures between the eyrie and Mirkwood forest.

Softly, in an effort to distract herself, she stirred the hobbit.

"Are we near?" Bilbo murmured quietly, blinking away the sleep that had settled in his eyes.

Orla nodded but said nothing else.

The eagles covered the remaining distance quickly and one by one the giant birds landed long enough to allow their stiff-legged passengers time to roll off. The Grey Wizard had arrived before them and as soon as the unconscious body of Thorin was placed still at his feet, Gandalf was bent over the dwarf to try and heal him. Others gather all around, biting their lips and shaking their heads as they waited for the slightest sign. Bilbo stayed back, tucked beneath the safety of his watcher's arm. Neither the halfling nor the skin changer dared get too close for Thorin's recovery seemed a private affair among the dwarves. Seconds went by and were soon hounded by minutes until dwarven heads had begun to fall in broken-hearted bows all around.

Orla looked away, her eyes tearing up the moment she made the mistake of looking at the youngest dwarf's desperate visage. Kili's mouth hung agape and his eyes had fallen into slits in stern refusal of his uncle's current state. The look touched her; she herself had worn one like it once not very far from where they stood now. It was the countenance one took on instinctively when faced with a hard truth and it had been carved on Orla's face for long days afterwards. Kili's, however, softened so immediately that Orla felt an urging to look back at Thorin once more.

The King had started to stir and the whooping elation that went up all around was enough to turn even the stoic head of Gwaihir himself. Thorin sat up with a grunt and in his typical fashion refused any offer of aid. He looked about, glaring with narrowed eyes through the curtain of black hair that had yet to be pushed from his face.

Most unfortunately, it was Bilbo who fell victim to the fierce look. As soon as Thorin had sighted the hobbit he was striding on remarkably steady feet towards him. Surprised but no so weary as to mistake such a look, Orla made to move in front of the halfling. She was cowed, however, by Thorin's harsh glare. As such, she stepped aside although one hand remained protectively atop Bilbo's shoulder.

"You," Thorin growled at the hobbit, who flinched within Orla's grasp, "What were you thinking?"

Bilbo, who was not expecting to face Thorin's ire so soon, blanched to a color that would rival the whitest of bed sheets. He swallowed and then looked to Orla and Gandalf, both of whom had leveled their own hard gazes upon the dwarf leader. It was only as Thorin came to stop in front of him that Bilbo squared his shoulders again.

"I told you, did I not, that you would be a burden."

Thorin's eyes were stormy as he spoke, glinting like onyx in the dark light. Quickly though, the anger in his eyes abated and only relief and approval remained. The dwarf prince reached out to clasp Bilbo to him, holding the hobbit close in an embrace like that which most of those present assumed him not to be capable of.

He ground out, "Never have I been so wrong."

Wide-eyed, Orla looked to Gandalf and found the old Maiar smiling proudly. His choice of burglars had been an excellent one after all. Thorin finally released the halfling from the hug but not it seemed from the camaraderie. He looked to Gandalf and said, "I thank you as well, Gandalf, for calling these eagles to our aid."

For once, Gandalf chose to remain silent, merely continuing on with his smile.

It was during this exchange that Orla, secure in the knowledge Bilbo and Thorin were both safe, began to slink back from the group. She looked to Gwaihir, whose large honey colored eyes had trailed to her with her movement, following her as only a bird of prey could. Perhaps, though she would never know for certain, it was her own second nature allowed her to spot the sudden recognition in the eagle's eyes.

Gwaihir's amber feathers ruffled and he spoke for the first time, "The last I saw of you, young one, your head was hung low in shame. Tell me, why is it you brave your father's wrath to return now, Orla, daughter of Beorn."

Orla winced. Every pair of eyes turned to her, the gazes accompanied by a chorus of murmurs.

"Beorn? The Keeper of the Ford of Carrock?" Gloin asked loudly.

By now, Thorin's smile had faded and he stepped towards Orla. He said nothing for a long moment, seeming more contemplative than angry. Orla suspected that Gwaihir's announcement had not entirely been a surprise to the dwarf. He said, "I have heard of Beorn. Strange things are said more often than not." He looked her over once and added, "Though considering your talents that is hardly surprising."

"Is it true your people can turn into animals? Bless me!" Dori cried, alarmed at the possibilities flitting through his mind.

Orla said nothing to acknowledge them, her eyes focused steadily on the Great Eagle. After a long moment to consider her answer, she spoke and many a dwarf gasped upon hearing her words.

"I am not here to beg entrance to my father's lands. If it is your will, Lord Gwaihir, I will remain in your home no longer, though I thank you for the kindness you have shown my friends."

Gwaihir appeared thoughtful, his smooth brown head tilting this way and that as birds are all prone to do. "This is for the best," he announced, "Ten years and your shame yet grows."

Orla looked away. "Aye," she whispered and was silent again.

She alone knew the true meaning of the eagle's words. She had never considered that the great Lord of the Eagles would have heard the local gossip, little though there was and with her own rotten doings topping the short list. She was long past any embarrassment on the matter, however, and the flushing of her cheeks came from sadness rather than shame. Ten long years had passed and the remnants of her banishment had only grown, being unlike the sort that dissipates after a few Sundays and with a price steeper than being uninvited for tea at the Sackville-Bagginses.

"Shame? What shame?" Someone asked the foolish question but they were quickly hushed by Gandalf, who after ten years in Orla's acquaintance knew better than to broach the subject.

Gwaihir, having no patience for nosiness, quickly moved business along. "Whatever your decision, young one, your friends may rest here until morning's light. At dawn, we will deliver them safely to the Carrock and you may be on your way."

"Yes," Gandalf agreed heartily with Orla as she nodded her head, "It would not do for us to go tumbling from your nest in the dark, my friend."

It was settled then. The exhausted dwarves and their companions rested under the watchful eyes of the eagles for what remained of the night. There was hardly peace for Orla, unfortunately, as most eyes never left her. She was content to shake and nod her head accordingly when asked pestering questions. A few of the dwarves like Dwalin came around to her when the point was made that she had done them no harm beyond deceiving their eyes. Balin assured them that Beorn and his like were as noble as Men came, though not overly fond of dwarves in most cases. Bifur ,though, remained unconvinced. Other than that, Thorin's interest in Orla seemed to have passed thankfully, as he made no move to question her further.

It was only when Kili approached her sometime near dawn that Orla felt any desire to explain herself. The others had long since fallen asleep and in a rare moment of privacy, the dwarf crouched carefully beside her, wobbling tiredly on the balls of his feet. He looked at her for a long while, his silence unusual enough to cause Orla some amount of worry. Of all the dwarves, she had come to know Kili best. Perhaps she might venture to say she was fondest of him, second only to the little hobbit that was sleeping a few feet away.

Kili's normally expressive eyes were nearly unreadable but in the little she could make out, Orla at least saw no repulsion. She took a moment to study him as well, marking with her eyes the sharp slope of his nose and the heavy set of his brows. Her opinion of him had not changed since the night she had guarded him on the plains.

Finally, Kili outstretched a hand and, with the dexterity of an archer, he plucked at the collar of Orla's leather coat. She knew that he recognized it and he soon said as much.

"You covered me with this that night near the Bruinen, didn't you?"

_Yes, _Orla's admission shown clearly, _I did. _She shrugged and left her reasoning at that. _You were cold. _

"Can't believe I didn't recognize in Rivendell. But," he grinned more wolfishly than even Orla herself could manage, "I can't say I was lookin' at the coat."

She flushed and swatted his hand from her neck. Kili was undeterred and he sat back with a tired sigh. Despite his exhaustion he gave a quiet chuckle, paying the look of annoyance she gave him no heed at all.

"Well now, I've seen that look before," he told her with a grin.

_You're bound to see it again, _she warned him in a flash of grey. Had she not been one to depend almost solely on her expressions she might not have been able to hide the grin of timid enjoyment that threatened to peek from the corners of her mouth.

"Ho now! Don't be like that." Kili persisted. When he received no response, he quieted.

That sat together for a long while like that, companionable silence between them. Orla gave a long hard thought to breaking her characteristic quiet but did no such thing. She shuffled her feet instead, toeing a little pebble beneath her boot. Kili watched her and wondered all the while how such a quiet young woman could turn into such a fierce creature when the need arose. He marveled at what the feeling must be like to experience such a thing and wondered still what kept the woman in such silence. His curiosity got the better of him, leading his mind to places it would have been better off not going. He wondered if she felt heat and cold in the same way a person would or even pain for that matter. That last part stopped him cold. He recalled the orc's arrow out on the plains, the one bound for him. He remembered the first time he had ever laid eyes on Orla and the way her shoulder had been bandaged. She had bore the wound gracefully, though he had known even then that it caused her no small amount of pain.

"Tell me," he said, more softly than he'd spoken before, "Does it hurt?"

Orla quirked an eyebrow. She need not have because she knew good and well to what he referred. With a long suffering sigh, she shrugged. She had not given the healing wound on her shoulder much thought recently. That was a good thing, she supposed, as it must mean the Elrond's healing was paying off.

Kili paled, the color fading from beneath the scruff of his cheeks. It had not occurred to him until now that the wound she had been sporting in Rivendell had been the one she had incurred on his part. "I'll repay you for it one day," he told her determinedly, "I promise."

_It's not needed, dwarf_.

Her eyes softened somewhat when she looked at him and in an effort to cheer him, she nudged his much larger foot with her own, passing the pebble she had been playing with off for his enjoyment. He smiled and instead of kicking the smooth little rock around as she had, he reached down the length of his legs to pluck the stone up, pocketing it.

She shook her head to fight back the smallest of smiles and as a result a mess of dirty hair fell into her face. The dwarf at her side noticed that it was the same pale gold color as the wolf's fur and he suddenly found himself wondering if it would be as soft under hand as the creature's pelt. Orla gave him no opportunity to find out, instead flashing him a look as she stood up.

In the brightness of those grey eyes and the happy quirk of her brow, Kili read a simple question. _Friends?_

"Oh, aye," he answered her, looking up charmingly at her despite the distance between them. Before she could turn to go, heading off to what was likely to be the opposite end of the eyrie from him, Kili caught her eye and tossed her a quick, well-versed wink. He added with a smile, "For now."

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As promised, the eagles woke them at dawn. The few hours rest had done everyone a world of good and they awoke with higher spirits than they'd had for some time. After a breakfast spent finishing off what was left of the cold mutton and rabbit they'd stored away, each one of the group climbed atop the back of an eagle. Off they went, leaving the eyrie behind with nothing other than cries of promised favors for the Lord of the Eagles should they ever meet him again.

Once again, Orla rode with Bilbo, which was a lucky thing for the eagle they sat astride as Bilbo had gripped tight onto the bird's feathers. Orla placed a hand on his to calm him, directing his wide, staring eyes away from their focus on the ground far below. Bilbo twisted round to look back at her and she gave him a look that told him not to be frightened, followed by a sympathetic glance at the eagle whose feathers Bilbo was determined to rip out.

It was not a long ride to the Carrock, a landmark which Orla new well. The step-like rocks of the eyot jutted out from the earth, a stone guardian to the Anduin River that flowed around it. With a single exception, Orla had only fond memories of the Carrock. She had been but a child, not much younger than Estel, when her father had allowed her to venture out to the formation for the first time. He had accompanied her, his large, rough hand in her much smaller one as he had led her to the Anduin's edge. With the bat of her lashes she had persuaded him to let her swim across the short distance to the Carrock. Though she had made it, little arms paddling the whole way, she had been too tired to swim back and Beorn had laughingly retrieved her from the other side, carrying her back atop his shoulders. She had marveled then at how the water had only come up to her father's hips and how impossibly tall and strong he seemed amidst the streaming water. Nothing could have come between the two Beornings in that moment. But time changed that, as it changes all things, and st seventeen she had crossed that same water for the last time. She had thought about going under, letting the cool life blood of the valley wash over her, never to come up again. Unwilling to part with life, however, she had forded her way to the Carrock and had spent her final night in the valley alone, huddled and crying beneath the stony steps.

Never had Orla thought to see the little island again. She had not wanted to. But now, as the eagles circled down around the river looking for a place to land, her heart and hands clenched in anticipation. Her feet itched to touch the fertile soil once more. For a moment she wanted nothing more than to submerge herself in the cool water and bathe there as she had in her childhood. Nearby the dwarves seemed just as excited as she, their hands clapping together happily at the promise of fresh water to drink and a place to wash away the grime of travel.

Soon the eagles were landing, their powerful wings stirring up grass and dirt as the resulting wind bore down on the ground with every beat. In short moments the dwarves had dismounted, along with Gandalf and the others.

Gwaihir circled above, his feathers glinting gold in the early morning sun. With a loud cry he called his companions to him and soon enough not a single eagle remained on the ground.

"Farewell!" they all cried in chorus, "wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey's end!"

Only Gandalf and Orla knew the proper response and the former was content to let the wizard answer in her stead. She inclined her head respectfully just as Gandalf called back, "May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks!" *

And like that, the eagles were gone.

Bilbo looked to Orla, clearly unused to such formality with birds. She simply shrugged as if to say that the exchanges had been the polite and customary way of speaking to the creatures. The hobbit let it go at that and busied himself with looking about at the scenery around him.

"Orla," Gandalf spoke to her suddenly and she turned away from the hobbit to listen. "Dear girl, humor an old man for a moment and come with me." As asked, she followed the wizard until they were out of hearing, if not quite out of sight, from the dwarves.

"You're doing remarkably well for someone who did not plan on coming as far as you have," the wizard said as they walked together.

Orla's lips pulled back in a smile that was not quite as genuine as she hoped it would seem. The wizard was not fooled, as she should have expected. He frowned, a look which appeared more severe than it was meant to due the bushy beard and brows that seemed to pull his down turned lips even lower.

Annoyed, he started, "Well, off to Forochel with you if –"

The Maiar was silenced when a dainty hand waved itself dismissively in his face. Orla was looking quite cross with him and folded her arms stubbornly over her chest. The determined glint in her eye told him that she felt her own plans had been circumvented long enough so she might as well just go about changing them altogether. _I've made it this far and neither you nor any dwarf is stopping me. _She glared at him sharply before tossing her head in the direction of the dwarves. _My father will not approve, however. He may stop all of us if that lot is not careful. _

"My girl, I doubt Beorn will approve of anything in this company. Do you plan to accompany them?"

The young woman scoffed loudly and shook her head. _I am no fool. I will take you as far as his pastures. _She pointed in the general direction of the promised destination.

"Then I will ask no more of you until Mirkwood."

It was settled. Forochel was forgotten in Orla's mind and she set her sights on Esgaroth, a place to which she had never been. Erebor, however, was still very much out of the question but she supposed that she might make the effort to see the dwarves safely through her father's lands and the dark forest that lay in wait for them.

She knew that Gandalf had more to say but it seemed that he deemed it fit to address everyone rather than just her so she returned with him to the riverside, where he urged the others to gather round. All thirteen of the dwarves shuffled forward, most of them barefooted, having shed their heavy boots long enough to stick their feet in the blessed wet of the river.

Thorin met the wizard's eyes from his perch atop a large rock. He stood without further ado, his own look skeptical upon realizing unpleasant news was soon to be delivered.

"Gandalf?" the dwarf prince asked.

"From the beginning I meant to see you all to this point and, despite a few inconveniences along the way, I have done so." Gandalf stated this fact proudly and gave a self-impressed sniff, the sort reserved for only the wisest and most pleased of people. "However, this is not my adventure after all. Myself and others –" he glanced sideways at Orla, "have come further than we ever meant to with you. Of the two of us, I must soon say goodbye to you. Though I hope I shall say hello again before the very end."

If he had cursed them all then and there they could not have looked any more depressed with this development. Many of them had forgotten altogether that the wizard had never promised to come all the way with them and they were paying for that oversight now. Bilbo especially was looking distressed.

Gandalf continued on, "Mind you, I will not depart immediately. We have a few days to go yet and I will at least see you to the edge of the forest. My dear, two-natured friend will guide you from there." His wrinkled hand came down on Orla's shoulder at the same time her eyebrows made it to her hairline in surprise. This was news to her. _Accompany _and _guide_ were two very different concepts, after all, and she much preferred to follow rather than lead.

Undeterred by her silent but not unnoticed reaction, Gandalf told the others, "I believe the next few days shall be easier going than the last few, thank goodness. We may even find dinner before it is all over with, for there is someone that I know of, who lives not too far away. If Orla would be so kind as to point us in the right direction, we may perhaps find him by morning."

The woman in question sighed woefully and cast her eyes down to her feet. _Or perhaps, given our rotten luck, he may find us instead. _She said nothing of course and instead began to drag her feet along the muddy bank of the river.

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_Abrupt cut off, I know. Sorry for not getting to Beorn just yet but I wanted to get this out so I split up the chapter. I only gave this a quick once over for editing so if you see something wonky, let me know in a PM and I fix 'er up._

_Again, sorry for the long wait. That being said, life has handed me a few unexpected lemons since I got back so I just ask you all to bear with me for the time being. I know it sucks as readers to be told chapters might take a little longer but I'll do my very best to update as regularly as I normally would._

_I'm considering writing a separate one-shot about Orla and why she leaves her home behind. I'm just toying with the idea but over the next chapter or two, if any of you want your curiosity sated then I just might oblige you. _

_Also, have you all seen the new trailer to the second Hobbit movie? I had hoped Legolas being in it was a cruel joke but oh, how wrong I was. Nothing against Orlando Bloom, I just despise the character he plays. My dad read the books to me when I was around 5 and I remember requesting that we call Legolas "Hombre" instead (my dog at the time) because his name irked my little 5 year old self so. Then again, I couldn't pronounce my "L's" at the time, so I think maybe that had something to do with it. _


	15. Chapter 15

**Here you go! Mind you, once again any dialogue you recognize is from Tolkien's The Hobbit. I've tweaked canon a bit in this chapter though it shouldn't irk those of you who haven't read the book. Bear with me (haha…pun!)**

**All shall be revealed with time!**

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The journey to Beorn's bee pastures was a short one despite what the overabundance of grumbling from the dwarves would have one believe. Unsurprisingly, they were still upset with Gandalf's approaching departure. Miles of walking later, having passed many a marker she recognized, Orla slowed her pace and fell back to Gandalf's side. She looked up at him, her grey eyes brighter than the wizard could remember seeing them. It was clear that she was at home here next to the Anduin but her nervousness had lit a fire within her that had yet to be extinguished no matter how many words of confidence were said to her.

"We are near then?" he asked softly.

Orla nodded before stopping completely, a gentle hand going up to catch the crook of the wizard's elbow to halt him as well.

His countenance was one of understanding as he studied her. She was unusually antsy, her eyes flicking nervously to the tree line and then back to the wizard. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. It seemed almost to be an odd sort of dance. A twitch here and slight shimmy there but the only music to which she moved was the nearby trickle of the meandering river.

Like a grandfather, the wizard patted her shoulder gently. He asked of her, "You will come no further, my dear?"

_No, _Orla looked about once again, her brow creasing, _and you best wait 'til lunch at least. _She looked to the sun and back at him. Having understood the advising glance, Gandalf concurred. It was then that the pair noticed a rustling in the trees nearby. Leaves parted and a pretty duo of cardinals darted out, singing their songs to an audience that understood not a single word. Orla sighed and watched the two birds flutter off across the field. Beorn would know of the dwarves' arrival soon enough she wagered and she gave the wizard a look that told him as much.

_Rest. Clean yourselves, _she advised, pointing to the river. _Make them presentable? _ It was a simple request, one asked only with the slight lift of her brow.

"Oh, I shall endeavor to do so. Off you go, dear girl!"

Gandalf bid her goodbye and hobbled off to direct the dwarves to bathe quickly and to tidy up their appearances as best they could. Orla, not one to linger when undressing dwarves were present, turned to go. In the blink of an eye the fair haired human was gone and a wolf trotted off in her place, bound for the safety only distance could put between her and the Bear Man.

Had the wolf cared to look back, she would have seen two pairs of eyes following her. The hobbit watched her for a long moment before he was distracted by a presence that had appeared at his side. Kili's hand came down atop his shoulder but when Bilbo turned to look up at him, the young dwarf had not yet turned his gaze from the wolf.

Shaking away the frown that threatened to sneak it way onto his features, Kili cast his eyes down to the ground and busied himself with removing his boots.

Tossing one shoe away, he said to Bilbo, "What do you suppose has her on the run, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo wobbled as Kili's hand had not yet removed itself from his shoulder and was pressing down rather hard as the dwarf tried to balance on a single foot. He was still tugging off the remaining boot when Bilbo replied, "I'm afraid I don't know. Then again, it's not my business so I haven't asked her."

"Oh ho! You hobbits and your social graces," Kili only shook his head, finally relieved of his footwear. "I'm merely curious! Blame his majesty, that bird. What 'shame' do you think he meant? Did she kill someone, you suppose?" He winked at the hobbit conspiratorially.

Bilbo groaned and tugged miserably at the curls atop his head. "Let it be won't you? Please?"

Kili shrugged but whether the movement was meant as a reply or simply to relieve himself of his coat, Bilbo was not sure. Either way, the dwarf said nothing else though Bilbo noticed that every now and again his eyes would turn back toward the place where the wolf had disappeared.

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Two by two the dwarves set out from the bee pastures. Gandalf had taken a great deal of time to warn them all after they had bathed that they should each do their best not to offend the man they were about to meet. They all listened with rapt attention to his warnings, each pondering why Beorn should be so fierce when his daughter was as quiet and tranquil as a calm wind. Gandalf did not mention to them the fact that there was a world of difference between father and daughter. He did, however, warn them that under _no _circumstance were any of them to make one utterance about having met Orla at all, much less mention the fact that she had led them this far. That, followed by some advice to not speak of hunting or eating any animals summed up all that Gandalf could tell them about Beorn.

"Do not be fools if you can help it," the wizard explained, "He is a beast when he is angry and he is made so easily. If you do not provoke him, I suspect he will be kind enough to us."

Many a dwarf grumbled but they did as they were told. Gandalf and Bilbo went ahead. In pairs they were to follow every few minutes until they all found themselves within the comfort of Beorn's home. It was with great reluctance that Bilbo was the first of the group to go. He stayed so near Gandalf that he would occasionally step on the hem of the wizard's robes, only to trip and totter before righting himself once more.

"Careful! Careful!" Gandalf snapped, for now they had come in sight of Beorn's home and there was no time for clumsiness. Bilbo shrunk back. It took quite a bit of mustering to get his courage up enough that he was able to look at the sight before him, afraid that he might do so only to see a great grizzly bear growling back at him. There was no such creature though. Instead, his eyes were met with a surprisingly pleasant sight. Beorn's Hall was as large as any human dwelling Bilbo had ever seen and built from wide oak planks. A pleasant weathered brown, it spanned two long wings and stretched across a pasture-like yard. Horses and cows and chickens dotted the courtyard, which was quartered off by a simple wooden fence.

A few of the horses approached just as Gandalf and Bilbo reached the main gate. They pawed at the ground, dancing about as the strangers pushed open the little gate and stepped into the yard.

"They're pretty, aren't they?" Bilbo asked, reaching out to touch a finger to the velvety nose of one horse.

"Indeed. Beorn and his folk take only the best of care of their animals. He would see them treated no other way," Gandalf answered.

The horses did not linger near the hobbit and wizard for very long. They each snorted and looked at one another, ears flicking back and forth and hooves knocking against the ground. Soon enough the beasts turned tail and hurried away down the long walkway to the front porch of the hall.

"They've gone to tell him we've arrived," Gandalf whispered. Bilbo's head twitched up in surprise.

"He can speak to them?" the hobbit queried in disbelief.

Gandalf chuckled and nodded his head once. "Oh, yes."

They did not make it much further before the front door of the hall opened and out stepped the largest man Bilbo had ever seen. Beorn was near seven feet tall – Bilbo could have stood on his own shoulders two and a half times over before he was of equal height. He was burly and muscular as any proper bear-man should be and had a head full of thick black hair with an equally black beard that was bushy enough to be the envy of many a dwarf. Bilbo's steps faltered as he took in the sight of Orla's father. He had to wonder how such a delicate woman like her could come from anyone as burly and dark as the man that now stood just a few yards ahead.

_What a horrible thing for her to endure_, Bilbo thought with pity, _the wrath of such a violent looking man_!

The horses that had run off earlier now stood near Beorn, nosing his shoulders until he waved them away. "Here they are," his voice boomed so that the nags flinched, "And they don't look so dangerous to me. Off with you now!" Obediently, the horses departed from his side and Bilbo and Gandalf were left at Beorn's full attention.

The Bear-Man stepped from the porch and strode over to meet Gandalf. He was nearly eye level with the tip of Gandalf's pointy hat and for once it was the wizard who had to tilt his head up to see the eyes of whom he was speaking to.

Glaring, Beorn grumbled, "Who are you? What is it you want?"

"I am Gandalf," the wizard said with all the politeness in the world.

Dark brows jerked together as Beorn narrowed his eyes. "Never heard that name before." He glanced down at Bilbo and then asked, "And that little fellow? Who is he?"

"This is Mister Baggins of the Shire, a hobbit of a respectable family and unimpeachable reputation," Gandalf explained. Bilbo was not sure if he should shake hands or perhaps bow but he finally settled on bowing, as he was much too afraid that shaking hands with Beorn might break his fingers.

Beorn said nothing for a while longer. Finally, he folded his great big arms over his chest and told them, "You've told me who you are but you've yet to answer my other question."

Gandalf nodded accordingly, replying, "We are travelers come from the West but we had a rather unfortunate time with the goblins in the mountains."

At the mention of the foul creatures Beorn's brows raised in interest. "What did you go near them for?"

"An accident of the worst sorts," Gandalf said, "Now, we're very nearly lost and almost as hunger. Alas, it is a long story."

Beorn thought for a moment, sending a large hand to scratch his head before he finally said, "Well, you better come inside then and tell it to me."

They followed him past the porch and into the main wing of the house. It was as spacious on the inside as it had appeared from the yard. In the center of the hall was a rectangular fire place, nearly fifteen feet in length and with long dining tables on either side. A wood fire was burning despite the summer heat, its flames sending bellows of smoke up and out through openings in the roof. Down the length of the hall were evenly spaced pillars made from tall tree trunks that stretched from the floor all the way up to the roof. Nothing in the house was hobbit-sized and Bilbo felt much too small for his own liking.

Beorn directed them to set at a smaller table in one corner of the room. He sat across from them and said not a word as Gandalf began his tale.

"I was coming over the mountains with a friend or two –"

"Or two?" Beorn frowned, "I only see one. A very small one."

"Well, I did not like to bother you with the rest of us. I will call the others if you'd like."

"Go on!" Beorn clapped his hands together and waved for the wizard to hurry along.

Gandalf excused himself before going to the door long enough to give a shrill whistle. As expected, Thorin and Dori came along shortly thereafter.

"These are not hobbits, they're dwarves!" Beorn took the time to look over Thorin and Dori carefully. Thorin did not waver beneath the larger man's gaze and met it with his own. He stepped forward and said, "Thorin Oakenshield, at your service."

"Bah!" Beorn grunted. "I don't need any services from you, though I'd wager you need mine. Still, I'm not fond of dwarves, though I have heard of your father and grandfather. You are _that_ Thorin, yes?"

"Son of Thrain, son of Thror," Thorin confirmed.

"And are you, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, here to make mischief in my lands?"

"We are on our way to Erebor, beyond Mirkwood. My dwarves mean you and your animals no harm." Thorin grit his teeth so loudly that Bilbo was sure he'd heard it. The future King Under the Mountain seemed about as fond of explaining himself to Beorn as he was of explaining things to elves.

"Your dwarves?" Beorn looked crossways as Gandalf. "And how many dwarves would that be?"

Thorin exchanged a glance with Gandalf, who was looking none too pleased with the dwarf's handling of the situation.

"Eleven," Thorin eventually admitted.

"Well, I'd say eleven was more than one or two. Call them in why don't you? I'll not have your kind stomping around my flower bushes."

Once more Gandalf went to the door and whistled again. Two by two the dwarves came until they all had filed into the hall.

"A troop!" Beorn roared, though not entirely out of anger. "A regular old troop of dwarves! Well, well, you best all have a seat before track in any more mud than you already have. Sit, I said! Go on!"

With no small amount of hurry and commotion the dwarves all found seats around the fire pit in the center of the room. Gandalf and Bilbo left their table in the corner to join the others. Gandalf sat nearest Beorn while Bilbo was left to scramble on a chair next to Fili.

"A big man, isn't he?" Fili whispered as Gandalf regaled Beorn with the tale of how they had all come to be in this position.

Bilbo nodded but said nothing.

Kili leaned around his brother to get a better look at the Bear-Man. After a while he just shook his head and sat back. "I don't believe it," he muttered.

"What?" Fili breathed quietly.

"Not much family resemblance is there?"

Bilbo choked at hearing that and twisted on his chair to glare sharply at the youngest dwarves. His normally wide eyes were narrowed in warning as he hissed, "_Shh_!"

"Just sayin'!"

The story went on for a while and every now and then Gandalf would say something that would earn him a bout of boisterous laughter from Beorn, who for the most part seemed to have forgotten his annoyance with the company. When the story was over, finishing with their meeting with the eagles, Beorn was satisfied enough to offer them food and shelter for a night or two.

He stood and stretched to his full height before clapping his hands together loudly – as Bilbo and the others had realized he was prone to do – and then he gave them the best news they had heard for a while.

"A good tale! Regardless if it's true, you deserve supper at least. Let us eat!" Looking over his shoulder, Beorn called out for someone. It was a surprise since none of the others had realized anyone else was in the house.

"Grim!" he shouted once and then again.

Moments later, a boy appeared. No sooner had the lad come into view than a bout of coughing and sputtering came up from one end of the table. Gandalf, who had pulled out his pipe and ol' Toby, was now choking after a particularly bad intake of smoke. He cleared his throat and blinked his eyes a few times before settling his gaze on the boy once more.

"Grimbeorn," the Bear-Man said to the boy, "gather up some bread and honey for our guests."

"Aye, papa," said the child.

Though dwarf and hobbit eyes were not always the best at guessing the ages of Men, the boy did not seem to be much older than Estel from Rivendell. Though not as lanky as Estel had been, Grimbeorn was nearly as tall and a bit wider through the shoulders. Curly locks of chestnut hair fell about the boy's face, hiding his eyes. He was gone before anyone took much notice of him, returning a few minutes later with a tray full of warm bread and clay pots filled with as pretty honey as any of them had ever seen.

Grimbeorn brought round the bread tray while Beorn poured fifteen cups full of drink for his guests. Bilbo could hardly contain his excitement as a small hand reached over his shoulder to place a loaf of bread on the plate in front of him.

"Thank y –" The words caught in his throat as he looked up to thank the lad. Grey eyes looked back at him. An unexpectedly soft, button-shaped nose crinkled in amusement as a too-wide mouth stretched over a child's gapped teeth.

"What is it?" Grimbeorn asked as he met the hobbit's perplexed stare.

"Good heavens," Bilbo squeaked before whipping back around in his chair to busy himself with tearing off a chunk of his bread.

"What's got you in tizzy?" Fili asked from beside him. The fair haired dwarf had not bothered to look up at the boy.

Bilbo jerked his head not too inconspicuously at the child. Fili's face was blank as that of someone who had missed the punchline of a joke.

"A brother," the hobbit whispered as quietly as he could, "she has a brother!"

Fili made a face and shrugged with disinterest. "The boy's too young to be her brother. She would have been near twenty when he was –" His head snapped up suddenly. "By Mahal!" Wide-eyed he looked at the hobbit and then quickly turned to look back at the boy who had since made it to the far side of the table.

"Bilbo," Fili murmured, "How old do y' spose the lad is?"

"I'd guess about ten summers."

"And how long has the girl been gone from this place?"

The hobbit said nothing.

"Here now," Kili piped up before popping a slice of honey-covered bread in his mouth. He leaned nearer to his brother and the hobbit as he chewed. "What' er you whisperin' about?"

They both looked at him as guiltily as any good conspirators should. "Nothing," Fili muttered to his brother and turned his attention back to his bread. Bilbo did the same, albeit less convincingly. Though he said nothing else, he could not help but glancing back at Grimbeorn every so often. The child did not move with Orla's easy grace but nor did he lumber about like the giant Beorn. Whatever thoughts Bilbo was thinking, he pushed them from his mind with all the gentleness of bull.

Dinner came and went and was followed soon by rest. Beorn allowed them to lay their pallets down around the hearth for the night. They did not sleep immediately; they busied themselves instead with singing songs around the fire. Gandalf did not join them that night, sitting by himself on the porch as he smoked his pipe. The wizard had not said much since dinner but then neither had Bilbo or Fili. It was late when they all lay down for the night and later still when they were jolted awake by the sound of the heavy front door slamming shut.

"What was that?" someone mumbled through the darkness.

"Beorn," Bilbo whispered in response, "He's gone."

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**Say _what_? Do I hear questions being raised? A few months ago, as I was going over my outline, I realized that my original plan for Orla and Beorn did not quite feel right. So I had to ask myself: In a place like Middle-Earth, what would ostracize a woman more so than anything else?**

**As I said, Tolkien-verse canon has been tweaked a little as Grimbeorn doesn't actually appear in the Hobbit. After the next chapter I'll put out Orla's one-shot story and that should explain any lingering questions you might have.**

**By the way, BIG NEWS! BIG BIG BIG news! Well, at least it is if you've followed me since my "Murder, Love, and Other Things" days. More than a few of you have and I'll forever be thankful for your support. As you know MLOT was removed from this site after some little snit reported it. It pissed me off, blah blah blah… Anyway, I'm happy to announce that after a year of revisions I'll be reposting the reworked version "The Killing Kind" very soon. Isith will be back with a vengeance now that the plot has been overhauled. If you like angst and murder and fantasy then I sincerely hope you enjoy my flagship story.**


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